I'm the best, there ever was
Can't get with me, at da club
Other poets, need to respect
My reputation, I'll protect
I got a 9, pen in my hand
Write your name, in the sand
To me, you can't never stand
I ain't afraid, to let out a curse
Write you in, an ugly verse
I'm da best, you da worst

You can't, stay with my meter
I spit sick, iambic pentameter  
I'm da truth you da cheater
You rhyme like Armstrong rides
You have to dope, ya got no rhymes
You da Cheech I'm da Chong
I write, you smoke da ****
You da burger, I'm da veal
I earn likes, you freakin still
You got da, cheesy *** rhymes
Droppin' words, like love & sublime
I put the free, in free verse
You all about, Nonsense Verse
I drop a sonnet, makes his head Shake
I'm the Chaucer, you da fake
I'm a Lyric, you the Lune
You can't quit writen', too crazy soon
Your stuff is dirt, mines the moon
You want a challenge, get in the ring
I'll make you cry but your mama sing

You'all poets, you got to know
You da fluff, I'm da show
I'm the king of the poets, HELLO

She said, "They use to call me busy-body, now I'm just a no-body,"
as I stroll up, headphones to unplug, to sit and wait for buses of school children to come up.
Feeling kind of broke of a sort that wont shut down, inside I'm meaning, reeling for home unfound.
Prospecting, working, commish here and there, "case management" on my case breathing till no air.
Looking and ardently searching for something that's not there, a plain jane job, to just give room for air.
Plans on paper, sound right in my head, but seem less and less practical in practice of what's read.

"Help? Daddy has a headache and sickness with no want to help baby,"
as she fashions a meal from play food in a play kitchen to make me feel better.
But I wont sit at her table, I wont play with her dolls, not today, when I've got the world at my *****,
biting and stabbing me in the back of my brain,
no, now I'll just put on a movie and try and sleep for a change.

"I love you's" are exchanged as I cover my head,
and the ultimate weight that is me lies in my bed.
Troubled, down, pierced by the bad negative points of life,
I'll rise later again looking for a "re-set" button to make alright,
while she sets the table with guests to an imaginary meal
cooked to perfection in hopes to change the way Daddy feels.

When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to talk, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine

Colette Anne Naegle
1945

Words can convey so much more than most know.
A poet can make someone smile, laugh, or cry, and weep
All in the same collection of syllables forming words

A poet can push a person's mind until the heart bursts with happiness, breaks from deep sadness, and dies down right frightened.  All from words formed into sentences

Poets can create a scene of great disdain or nothing but frivolous faire in one sentence turning it to deep concentration hunting for resolution from sentences creating stanzas.

Poets paint a picture that can't be seen by a passerby or displayed in a window case.   It can be placed in plain site something of ******* nature yet unless looked into deeply will never be seen.  As stanzas form a poem that paints that picture

Poets sometimes can only paint basic emotion with words yet some can pull raw lustful emotion from deep in the soul.  Syllables to words bring excitement and desire.  Excitement, need, and release like two bodies locked together in sweaty heated embraces

Poets bringing syllables to words to sentences can capture ones longing carrying along to paragraphs that feel, hear, taste, smell, and see the burning need that the stanzas envoke the basics of carnal lust to break free like a caged lion whose food lay just outside the cage

Poets bring to close the paragraphs that wrap it all together Can you feel the sunlight against naked flesh so warm reflecting off beads of perspiration?  Can you taste the deliciousness of her desire upon ruby lips?  Or from the moisture that coats his fingers as they glide easily through silken petals?  

Poets continue painting with words, stanzas and paragraphs moving to hearing.  Can you hear the cries and pleas begging as desire builds to uncontrollable heights? Feeling. Hearing. Tasting. What is left the poet thinks. Ahhhhh to see and to smell

Poets syllables to words, stanzas, to paragraphs moving towards the pinnacle of rapture their every desire for the reader to see. Hius tongue lavishes the sweet flesh, tasting the musky desire as hands caress and pull upon tender buds of pleasure, the pants, moans, mews, cries, grunts, screams, mix together to form to a crescendoing of music

Continuing as pools of deep blue suffocate emeralds that look back. A growl followed by a almost hedonistic finale as the beings are rocked to their core. The syllables, words, stanzas, paragraphs almost to the picture seeing as the golden dagger of despair is plunged into the innocent heart.  Mixture of musky sweetness glistening upon flesh as red rivers flow to meet and mingle, swirling against the pale white.  The punget rust mixed with essence of bliss finishes the painting.

Poet started with syllables to words on to stanzas then paragraphs drawing from happiness, love to desire, need, release, slammed into the abyss of pain, despair and a private hell only each person viewing the poet's work can explain to themselves and perhaps share with another.

Bashfulness, Happiness, eagerness, apprehension, desire, need, fire, pleasure, release, pain, excruciating pain, lonely, despair, abysmal sadness, depression

The picture painted yet not with colors on canvas but with words on paper.  The mind fills in the forms, colors, and lives the sentence of taste, touch, sight, noise, and of course the smell.  If the poet is truly good one might find they actually do get a whiff of what is writen caressing their nasal pathways.

Written by Niyahlove.  :-)  All rights reserved please be respectful November 2, 2014

While reschearching 4 my book I
discovered this & would like 2 share
It was writen when I was 16 &
still in High School

I was sitting very depressed
Taking a Mathmatics Test
When I noticed this
Written upon my desk
"Smile!
It's not so Bad
It Could Be Worse
But, Don't Ask Me How"
And I Just Had To SMILE

I thought about getting a tattoo
a small script that read "*******"
I'd tell all my friends, it's deep,
there's a massage there, you can't see
all writen and now inked on my feet.
In hopes that you might see



and never want to **** my feet.

whats going to happen to me-
now that the sky is falling

can't see the forest for the trees-
now that the sky is falling

you thought I was strange,
you never knew my name,
you perverted the game,

ain't no more zombies-
now that the sky is falling

everbody believes-
now that the sky is falling

you laghed when they harassed,
you didn't help when I gasped,
you joined in when they kicked-
my a**

words of the prophet writen on the school's wall-
now that the sky is in free fall...

We struggle to die
Running right into life's trap
Racing with time ,
We want to grow up
No one to blame that's just us

We age and we differ
Our bones becoming weaker
Our skins lose the  glimmer
Our teeth have no holder
We look back onto the days we were young and merrier
No one to blame that's just us

We seek home in holes
Love ,lust and betrayal
Cries, laughs days pass on
History writen ,they say it lives on
Legends writen over our dry bones
No one to blame that's just us

We can't see these wonders anymore
The sky no longer embraces our world
6 feet deep it feels stone cold
Our souls in rest in the world unknown
As the recite these words on our tombstone
There's No one to blame that's just us

©mereidow

A worn out face and soul I hide behind other parts I play.
He's asleep, slowly waking up, he can only be energized by his daughter's presence today.
Yet she maybe is unaware of his father's existence
it wouldn't be strange, we're nearing a full year
I pray day to day she's not unaware, truth be told it's my biggest fear
it's hard to hold on to hope
when all you've got is memories
and an old picture on your desk
All these questions and doubts I got
a beating rhythm in my head
every tear I shed embodies my love for you
every tear I shed is because I'm missing you
I pray you don't ever forget that I'm your dad.

I remember being scared to death the first night home.
As I focused on your breathing and I pictured you behind closed eyes
I slept shallow and checked multiple times to see if you were still alive
My biggest fear then was losing you... and two years later I did
and now I've missed a year experiencing you turning into a kid.

I bet you're cheeky, witty and stubborn. Curious, full of love, sensitive and have a deep intelligence. So now I'm fighting to get you back, giving it my all. To continue setting an example, to show you that you've gotta fight for those dear to you, to show you the power a person can have. And if by some stupid lies I lose this fight, I promise you Sara look for me when you're old enough and you'll realize dad always got your back. I won't give up on you.. EVER
You'll hear an other side of a story but I won't impose my opinion on you. I will give my side of the truth and let you decide from there.

Know that I would rather endure an entire life of this heavy burden and pain and take it to my grave then let you say you had a father who gave up halfway.

In three days you'll turn three. I'm sorry I can't be there Sara but I promise I'm doing everything in my power to see you as soon as possible. In advance I wish you a happy birthday, your birthday present is going to be a bit late though. Bear with me, it's on it's way.

I love you.

Writen with tears of sincerity, a strong soul and a loving heart,

Your father Stevie Ray de Vries Andries.

ps. You're always way to young to have any boyfriends, ever. ;) Dad will put them to the test. If they're unworthy Spartan-Kick them out of the house and if they are you'll sleep in seperate beds. And if he does treat you with the honor and respect you deserve.. I'll think about letting you sit next to eachother on the couch. Haha...

The Moon is pale,
Faded.
The few clouds that float
They reflect sharply the lights of the metropolis.
The trees, in a far, bend over the strong winds,
Which to me is the soft breeze that caresses my face.

The strange noises and the games of the shadows
Torment my mind,
Fragile and Paranoid.

Never let the voice that whispers softly in your ear .
Dictate the direction of your soul.
As in his embrace you find passion but do you know truth?

Make no diffrence between the two.
For a fools logic often allows passion to blur the reallity .

For in blood promises writen agreements seem easy till the price need be paid.

Locked doors will not shield you from a end simply create your tomb .
On full moons and othet dark ocassions often there is light even within the darkness.

Did the promise not live up to the truth my dear.
Did that temptation just seem to sweet to deni .
We can ignore are nature but we are carnal animals just the same.

Death finds us empty as alone we must enter to whatever may be .
Never make promises your not willing to keep.


And so in your demise the whispers softly as they were spoken from a forgotten lovers release .
Were still lies just the same.

This is another set of poems i wrote that I have been trying to turn into a song. It's composed loosely, for that's the way I write - kind of from the center out, and I don't like to rework my words too much because I find that it alters the original intended feeling, so please forgive the grammarical errors and call it creative liscense.

I've been a fool,
I've been a fool, it's true
Now I live without you
Without you by my side
I can't go on
I don't want to go on without you

If at night you hear the wind is moaning
Your lonely soul is groaning
Think back, you'll find
I'm on your mind
There was a time when you were mine

Everytime the phone rings and there's a hang-up on the line
If you search for what is lost it's me you'll find
At the end of the mystery...

Though I'm a poor man,
And I'm tired
I'll never tire of loving you.

If you're alone and you can't stop crying,
cry,
cry for me, too.
I'll weep for you.
There was a time when you were mine.

Footnote: This was writen about obssession a long time ago, but now I think it's more about the subject just THINKING he was obssessed. And no, it's not about me but, in my writing I have always been able to empathize with various points of view.

To those who have depression you know that it fills our minds with dark thoughts of our past, present, and future.
It makes us second guess why we are still alive.
It takes a strong iron grip on our chest and makes us struggle to get out of bed in the morning and makes us choke on words like "I am fine." Or "Don't worry I will be okay in time."
It twists the positive words we hear to form negitive thoughts of self-doubt and self-loathing.
It makes us want to hurt ourselves till we can't hear the words of hatred anymore.
It consumes our souls that were once bright and cheerful and turns them into darkness and sorrow.

To those who do not have depression do not understand why we can't just be happy.
They don't understand that every day is a battle of life and death.
They do not understand the effort it takes to get out of bed in the morning and to face another day.

To those who do not know that the words they say hurt us.
We take your words seriously.
When you tell us "Go **** yourself." We actually want to.

To those who don't know that they just forced a peer of theirs in the closet when you said, "If I saw a gay I would beat them up." It makes it harder for them to accept who they are.

To those who don't understand why people with eating disorders hate themselves enought to starve themself or make themselves sick after they eat.
It is more then trying to be thin.
It is the cure to all our problems if we just don't eat this week.
Or we eat and make ourself sick.

To those who don't understand social anxiety.
Loud noises scare us.
Large groups of people freak us out.
Talking to new people makes us worry.
Socializing is difficult and doesn't come easy for like the rest of you.

To those who don't understand why we stay in that abusive relationship.
We feel like they will change.
They said they loved us.
They apologized and said it will never happen again.
They threatened to hurt themselves or us if we left.
They make us feel special at times.

To those who understand everything that was writen above and that has been through any of these things.
Please know this.
You are strong.
You are important.
You are beautiful/handsome/perfect.
You are a fighter.
You are a winner.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are amazing.

My impression of women
is disheartened
by the most wonderful admiration.
A beauty
that once found grace
is a constant fear.
In their figure and their face
does hurt or spooky complete this.
I blue
Hollywood away to
lay awake in brood mares
stirring passive fires in
warm honey.
"I loved you."
Is naught "love" ewe.
Place this heart in a blender
and press,... love, or hate,
or any other garilous word
on the surface of the arcade.
Madness, or slight copped,
minced or purety.  
How then on any day
can watching a badly writen
play make surety?  
Does rhyming
have another way
to find I lauded enrapture
with the death
the tallest of tale tale hearts
doesest thou now know
if proven that one love is
worth all women.  
Reveled in horror
the blender shakes
as does my arcane prose
to the figure
of a woman
in underwear
on Friday,
the 13th.

I miss you
And I know it all
Seems as if its
Just abstract flirtation
And hopeless poetry
For the spirit of romantic gesture
And that it isn't truely...
That deep craving
Of endless oceans
And time weathered shores
Of waves cashing
With every beat
Of a heart
So desperately
And sickly
In love
That it could
Never die
Or be
Broken
And the simple
Madness of the truth
Isn't able to be
Writen or spoken
With any alphabet
Or language
And I could
Never describe
The how or when
Of it all
But I do
Know I will
Always be falling
Here
In this place
Where
I miss you

I’m not the girl that your mother warns you about.
I won’t break your heart.
I won’t kiss your best friend.
I won’t make you choose between what you love and me.
I’m not that cold.
I’m not that reckless.
But if you give me a chance.
I will love you more than anything.
I will kiss you when you cry.
I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise.
And even then;
I will still love you.

sometimes you can’t believe what you’ve
done

your mind wanders back in time
looking for the moment you shattered
or built, changing the flow of our
collective future

the bird flies across your window for a reason
the soldier dies in a fight for a reason
the is poem is writen for a
reason

and we shouldn't know what the reason
is

if you do,
I’m sorry

watching what becomes of your
actions is terrible and mystifying

it hurts
or
it stuns
or
both
or
worse

I fear myself as I dip my oar into the river of time
I fear that in my wake a flood will come

TEARS in MA HEART
From a distance
I c a baby in d strit
cryin in cold and all alone,
it seems he's mama is gone
and no one to show him love,
he's gat ear's like a rabbit
and hair coiled like that of thet arabics,
from a distance i can c hunger
boldly writen in his face
and it seems he has been left alone
2 die in a place meant 4 waste.
i can see people passing by
but no one care 4 dis baby,
d baby cried louder and louder
but no one seems 2 hear.
i feel big deal for this baby
and i can feel ma heart crying 4 dis baby.
since no one cared or heared
The loud cry of dis baby in d street
how can anyone feel my depression,
My pain or hear the silent cry
for dis baby in my heart.

I see trough the window
A gray sky and clouds
I felt empty
Like missing a part of my life
I realize...
I miss you from my life

Your laugh
Your smile
The way you kiss me
And wraped me with your warmth hug

If we could have this life for one more day
If we could only turn back time and rewind

I promise I will never leave you again
Just with you forever

My life is like a blank paper
Writen by your beautiful memories
That become a part of me
And when you're gone
A part of my life also gone with you

But I know it's too late to fix
It's no use regreting the past
Only ruining my future

the night we stay with Satan\
shore cycles of Karma will swing\
true plink betwix auditorium plunk\
Kin deep wreaking frail grim reap\
Keeping the Peace maker horn\
charmer reborn slumber Sparrow\
swarm base oiling gladness churn\
long face wide zygomorphic burial\
laced golden silence relish relics daze\
tyrance maze efface miraculous Mayans\
fingere lunge literal transliterating Dunya\
          distill animation by God triangulate\
  Panagia onomatopoeia layman infiltratIon\
red writen circuit burnt innocence clipped\
insulant urn of the surgat son\
opening null locking sun in all dials\
primeval mercifulness\
primordial noteworthiness\
may be relieving points for taking\
and giving a flying shackle **** back\
one down pass it around another lie\

shoved down the throat again\
found in the bottomless pit awake it\
() thing worse than being lost when\
it's your Necessities that are looking\
Ain't that the truth although tainted\
Eluding absentmindedly words\
flow retroactively channeling\
purposeful jurisdiction thinking\
actuality is thee meant to be what\

consequently conceptualized where\
attitudes collect pealing aptitude\
manifests inception dictated in\
comforts own skin pretentious\
dictators impose upon Carthage Pillars\
irritatedly prioritizing Pagan fillers\
reflect surround sinners encroach\

exploring Asia Minor capacity inspect delve interest\
coach self linguist design intellect major retrospect\
outspand intrinsically extort distortion awaken\
infernal declarations transmogrify\
straight lines entwine utterance\
embrace praise Raise feathers halo\
  Altitude of the Almighty deity maker\
genuflect bare Manitou provocate heir bait\

albeit Iron Maiden answers prayers fate\
giveth and be not deceived receive\
A divinity Key degree Aleph hook creek\
handling sobbing grief debrief steam decree\
kneeling bleeding evaporate disguised healing\
trees spree free be guarded prophetic maven\
emancipate  to the seventh greet Phoenician Valhalla Heavens\

I haven't writen in a while and it hurts my heart and head to know I just don't have inspiration. The words used to flow out of my fingertips when I was with you but now it's like if they were stuck in the palm of my hands and they cannot reach out for the paper. And today I read a poem about death and couldn't help but to remember how I used to picture how sweet it'd be to die by your side. Pathetic. He is hugging me like before and I am getting chills and that is also pathetic. Maybe love is not made for someone like me or maybe I am not made for something so beautiful as love, but as long as I can write...
I guess it's alright

All my favorite writers
are vacant from this space
there is no trace
their heart felt out pours
crushed under a wave
of generic love poems
of fast writen mud
I scroll past
empty rhyme after empty rhyme
where are you?
where did my poetic friends go?
We broke like the last splash
on the shore of a dried up lake
These new words feel fake
to those whose souls I loved
I hope you are still penning
somewhere
I hope your ink still stains pages
and that someday
I'll read your names in a book
or I'll find you on a journey
and once again hear your words
that sent my heart
into a flurry

I have a problem; I have had it for quite some time. I
have a desire to speak to others about something but
that is not my problem. I have something to say, but
I am not sure others want to hear it; that is my
problem.
I have two questions: how will I know others will hear
me, and, how do I know they will listen.
I believe asking for permission to speak is contrary to
my constitutional right to speak freely. However,
asking to be heard is contrary to what I believe. For if
others do not believe as I, they will hear, if I am loud
enough, but will not listen.
I only listen to myself when I am alone. But it is
when I am alone that my desire to be heard is
overwhelms me. The words shout inside my mind. My
inner voice is loud and yet, it is only when I am quiet
that I hear.
When I write what I hear in my mind… ah now I have
something worth listening to. At least I think so. Why
else would I write?
I have written many words. At times they have been
merely strung together; fluid as water without a direct
course or meaning and unread by others. At times I
have attempted to make them concise, with a clear
and significant barney, and available to all. I have
more often succeeded at the prior while failing
successfully at the latter.
I wonder at my successes, my failures. The words I
hear when placed on paper sometimes, yes even to
me, sound different. I wonder then, when read by
others, how do they sound.
And when I am alone and listening; writing, reading,
changing the sound, the words… I struggle for
meaning. Not just for the words, but why I listen.
Why I write. I search for my truth and do battle with
thoughts of pain; for they cause me to become
depressed and still my hand.
But it is in the darkness of those moments that I
must write, if only to relieve the anguish. The battle
reveals my weakness and the words are, sometmes,
deceptive. I would be lying to you if I wrote I have
never lied to myself.
Before me is the path I follow
Behind me words now hollow
Perhaps best left unspoken
My spirit remains unbroken
As silent I remain
Writen words I shall retain

what a night with friends just partying with no sence of time or tiredness. every night you go out and try new things that will throw you out when you find your self waking up with no memore. you feel great with no reziliance of the angers that will take your  moral confedens. you just feel free and a rebel to your parents. every night you are out all night with just images that bring laughter and giggels. evr night you find your self with a  new thing writen on your body lipstick  kisss all over the white shirt.  but that one night you feel this thought that thought frezzes every thing. is this real. nothing makes sence and it is all clear you have became the person that you promised to not let out.
all the thrills grow but your mind is to ******* over to even realize that this isnt you.

your girl friend is scared to death about you. yeah

yeah life's thrills have turned you into a mess. your girlfriend finds you passed out on her front stoop with a note you wrote please save me?

life;s thrills is all fun and games before you get that thought every one who loved you are extreamly scared for you.

love is one thing but pushing away that and going insane leves another lie tht you said this wont ever be me.


yeah LIFE"S THRILLS HAVE DESTROYED YOUR LIFE AND EVERY NIGHT YOU WENT OUT YOU PUT ANOTHER LIE ON YOU?

LIFE"S THILLS HAVE NO BOUNDRIES BUT WHO DO YOU SEE YOUR SELF REALLY LOOK LIKE?

LIFE"S THRILLS have taken my life and flipped it up side down.
your addictions to the little things have made you look like ****.

no sleep exept sitting on your bed agenst the wall with questions of what happened all those nights/

Ring ring...

Ring ring... hey it’s your future calling

Yes, I know that everything ***** and it feels like your falling

But just remember that I’m kinda like a spoken freestyle, I’m not writen in pages

As the spoils always go to the victors, not to those trapped in their own cages

what sort of mistake do you have to make,
where at this crux of
  made mistake somewhere down along the line
produces the following "solution":

    9  7  5  1  2  3  8  6  4
    3  1  6  ?  4  5  2  9  7
    4  2  8  7  8  6  5  1  3
    6  3  2  8  1  4  ?  7  5
    7  5  1  3  6  2  9  4  8
    8  4  9  5  9  7  3  2  1
    2  9  7  4  5  8  1  3  6
    1  8  4  6  3  9  7  5  2
    5  6  3  2  7  1  4  8  9....
        
                i wish it was as simple as spelling
mistake to correct it...
              but having the concept regarding
this puzzle as:
           x
              0
                 x
                                doesn't help...
                        well, it really is XOX of japan...
             you have complex phonetic encoding,
mathematics is like children playing with g.i. joes...
              you squirming... or squinting?
         i'll have to wait for tomorrow's newspaper
to get the answer as to where i made the mistake...
   like i made the mistake in
no. 8942
            with the nine in the
                        1  6  8
                        7  2  5
                        3  9  4 lower square...
                  oh right... this is the part where i'm
supposed to be jealous with you getting all the *****?
          to be honest? two cats are already too much to handle...
you can have your little jealousy-magnetism objects
that women become...
                            it's almost 7pm around here,
and i'm about to finish a litre of swedish ***** (absolut)...
                i'm trying to be bothered...
                                i just made a mistake solving
a su doku, that might be nothing more than
                        having writen a 9 wonky... or some other
number... but until tomorrow's press doesn't print
the solution... i won't know where i went wrong...
                      well... hello raisin madam!
                                you have that produce in
the heavenly harem of islamic martyrs?
            is this the part where you tell me: exercise!
             i really can imagine that kind of hell...
                          what they call heaven i just call hell...
it's like ******* two-point-oh... oh right?!
                i have to **** these women i'm not
attracted to? and there's 72 of them?
                                                          oh crap.
guess what dating app. they have in iceland...
guess!
                   they match up based on their genes...
that's what they have in iceland... as an island
community they match up, based on their genome...
if they're 2nd or 3rd generation cousins
the phone app. alerts them that they're
related in a too close a proximity and that they
shouldn't move toward having offspring.
                      i opened today's newspaper and read
the news, and then thought: horror movies
are the equivalent of softcore if a pornographic
analogy is permitted... in terms of what journalism
covers... horror movies are romance...
         this **** covers the utter mind-numbing *******.

Claudia had to
Go to her classes in the dojo
Something she dread
Now
Not that she didn’t love karate
But she wasn’t sure if her love was there
Or not.
When she arrived not finding Boris
She was relieved
Everything went clockwise
Until the end of her lessons
She saw her lover there
Hair spiked
She saw that he
Had a bag full of stuff
He said that he hurt her
She said no
But that she loved her ******.
They kissed
Happily
He said that he though a few nice tattoos would help
Her feel less freaked out.
Though there was one
That he had her get
When they got the tattooists
She was said that she was going
To get some strange writing in the inside
Of her right thigh
That was the tattoo that he wanted
When it was done
She was again a little creeped out it was
Writen in a strange script
And he said
It’s tibetan for Om mani Padme hum
The rest of the ink
The Claudia got
We’re flowers on her neck and chest
And stars for her arms
After the tattoos
The young lovers
Went back
And then Boris gave her some colourful flags not unlike
The ones in the photos.
And some rings.  
Which pit on her fingers
As they walk into the door
They made out
Undressed each other
And then Boris
Dropped the flags
On her neck
And over her shoulders
“My new shrine
And temple...you my love”
Claudia felt touched
And they gently kissed
And he asked about the books
Saying that she might
Want to learn about them
As they kissed
While being in each other’s arms.
Then he got between her
And kiss her on the thigh tattoo
And other places.