Everyone is gonna be happy / be happy
you're gonna make me so happy / so happy

My sins didn't hold
By sin I'm no more sold
you're poring into me
you're forgiving as can be
the line was formed with red
By your son who rose from the dead
you've taken sin away
i'm fine, so fine this day

your hands have warmed my soul
unlike the sin that was a part
the hole you fill so comfortably
but now i'm pouring out my heart
i will make room i'll empty out
i'll tell my sins to you about
i'll change my everything for you
just keep on doing what you do

Oh, my Medusa
That piercing, seductive stare
Gets me so rock hard.

"braullw nevae falls"
That's 'braille never fails',
Spelled by a blind man.

Matsuo Basho
Turns in his grave: first, five times
then seven, then five.

The dankest of ****
Floats slowly into my lungs
Oh wait...Asbestos.

hahaha ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
yeyeyeyeye ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
hehe wyd

i see things in high definition colour, but
july is the only month that fluctuates—
between florida orange and, later, burnt sienna;
everything between the 1st to the 31st
is dipped in a honey-glaze of three things:
1. warm, sticky air
2. the feeling of 6pm
3. bicycles riding through fields of fireflies.

naturally, i spend most of july in my bedroom—
the heat gets to me, makes my allergies flare
and i watch movies; old, 80s, movies (or—tiktok clips
of the same movie, only broken up into thirty-six parts
that i view from my bed with my naked legs spinning vertical circles through the air).

i always forget the feeling of august
until it’s there again. july
overshadows it with the final embers, so i only realise
it's august on maybe the 5th or 6th. almost
a full week into a month that my brain—
which is never wrong about the way things feel—
sees a deep, ocean blue.

i don't write home about august. i don't hurry it up
through winter months, when i begin the countdown
to hot, hazy days. if anything, i view august
as the ending of something, of a summer i wished so hard for.

and every time, it blindsides me with love.

i love things more in august. i love the smell of summer-
rain on the pavement. i love songs i listened to in january.
i love waiting around for halloween. i love my bedroom,
the pause of heat-sick sleep, the blue-sky mornings.

i write love letters to autumn in a time capsule. i text july and ask u up?, and wyd?, and come over?

and still, when summer ends, i will never want to get what i wish for.

Just beginning.
Wyd are still young.
Still being educated.
Only 40 years ago homosexuality was still considered a mental disorder.
Now equal rights are still non existent.
Sure since then things have gotten better.
But we still are not equal!
People still laugh when they see two men walking down the street holding hands.
People still thing lesbians are just there for there own nasty pleasure.
Kiss your girlfriend it's hot.
You don't say that to straight couples.
You don't stop and yell out the window when you see them.
You don't tell them to kiss for your own pleasure.
You don't go shoot their clubs.
The world is not equal.
We are no where near equal.
We are still lower than heterosexuals.
We are still thought of as sinners by churches.
We are frowned upon.
Youth are thrown out by there parents.
We still live in fear.
No rights til we are equal
**** right I SUPORT it!

Frequent & repeated lines of questioning,
not limited to frequent and repeated running,

O,
your honor,
how wyd one do in the dog days should so futile an expense be paid.

Often,

though not often enough
(and
entirely too often,)

it seems
to be
repeated

to be
repeated the sayings of the elderly,

but I say,
among others,

RUN!

collapse into the whole of everything else.

Run not in the ablative sense,
but inwardly.

The Dog Days are days in the truest meaning,
Don't Hold Me To That!!!

for this will pass,
as will those and that.

That rustling will never cease
and should it,
I fear the worst.

From this cries a home

A HOME!

for want of all.

Take this, Take me, whole, unbroken, beyond dog days and frequent and repeated sayings & questions. Take me home.

me: hey
you: hey
me: wyd?
you: nothing. hbu?
me: same.

seen 23:49

The many ways he is legal.,Legit and lit..
With 3 A.M to finish it!
He ever so slightly gives..
Her a passions mind hickey.
F.ck..up.. savory
Like shivering kisses mind hiccups.
unspoken...................................attention given.
Make's her shiver he's a mental ******* giver..
Make's her mind moist and inquisitive.
At the sign of any confusion.
It's his  penetrative foreplay.
Its the lyrics used to seductively play.
Tools He uses..their selective differences.
Just before 3 a.m.
She floats adrift softly melting H.i.m.
Talking  everything  comprehensively through.
  Rocks her mindful  emotions.
Mind Fkin sweet potions.
non-trivial notions.
Following every word she's relaying.
All before the 3 a.m. relating.
By day he's catering appetizers of verbal compliments.
Sharing of the days events.
when they are away from one another.
They are texting each other.
By evening.........
his texting feels like gentle
                                                                ­    whispering!
Making His next text something she's craving.
Neva leaving her guessing what He is doing.
Neva askin her wyd?
                                             Mental interactions are tender touchings.
                              Mind Fkin..   A tender kind of existing.
                                                       ­    As they both be falling.
By the time its 3 a.m.
Oceans colliding.. erupting.. exploding. mental explosion.
3 a.m. dammn she's already had many ******* heightened chills.
Body follows every moment. No hesitations so receptive.
They are such Intellectual souls..
The body is prepped it always follows.
3 a.m Anything Goes.
By 7 a.m exhaustion so good sets in.
Physical resting  so sweet.. yet mentally he's ready with a grin.
Just to start a new day all over with her again.
by selinasharday 4-2018...H.I.M (he is mine)

I don't know what to do
I am stuck in this gap
its hard to move forward
or backwards

im trying to choose between
him and him

him one
pros
nice, funny, calls me cute, noticed me
cons
distant, innocent, awkward
him two
pros
cute, nice, funny, and some notices me
cons
seems ***** all the time, clingy, its always wyd

they both notice me and i don't know why,
i'm not cute
i'm not funny
i don't attract any similes
i attract stares

They come
They leave
They seek reprieve
We need a sound and a light
To keep us conscious
Of whatever
I am conscious of something
There is a barrier

Young girl in black jeans
Glasses
Apron
And a fry cook
Battering Nova Scotia
Halibut on live television
I send a message to Adonai
Wyd?
He asks me if I will agree
To his new terms of service
Which makes me uneasy
He tells me Carl Jung
Wears his glasses in the void
He looks prophetic and exalted
With some black folks
Sitting at a corner table
While being interviewed
That’s amazing
She says
So cool
She says
That’s amazing

And if our eyes meet
For too long
We might know some
Secret truth
Which we make
No effort
To conceal
Are we already
In perfection?

Wake up
Drink coffee
Let the dog into the yard
Looking at my phone for hours on end
Hoping that someone wants to talk to me
Wants to be with me
But only one person does
Every day
“Wyd?” “Want to hang out?” “**** my life”
**** your life? **** my life.
Your life is just beginning
Mine has yet to start
Shackled by a lack of money
A lack of resources
Living miles away from friends...
Every day I want someone to say to me
“Let’s spend time helping you.”
“Let’s spend time where you don’t have to pay $5 to listen to me complain about how I want to have ***”
I don’t care if you’re *****
Unless you want me to do something about it
Stop telling me every day
I want someone to help me
I want someone to talk with me
Not at me
Every day
I wish I had someone


But I’m to scared to look

The Babe
The Beauty
The Beast
Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Babe
Ignoring texts after texts of subpar conversation prefixed
With dry "hey" 's or "how are you?"
And occasionally the simple "Wyd? [insert emoji]"
Which seems to relay a level of mediocrity in the ability to sustain an exchange of thoughts. Consistently anyways. But you know what they say.
"I just want to be your friend" Come on. For pretend obviously. Because if it was for real, it would be quite easy to see I'm well aware of where the evidence of this centered on self motif is horribly discarded in texts. Selfishness masked as mendacious selflessness. The ignorance. The Babe.

The Beauty.
The Beast.

Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Beauty.
Girl next door. Classy cutie. Undermined time after time for her subtle nature. Settling for the flesh. Dressed in pure excellence. You know, beautiful skin. Lips. ****. Thighs. Shoulder shrug to show content. Or complacency rather. With the fact that knowing names doesn't matter. Or even knowing simple dislikes in spite often physical affection. But that's the beauty of keeping it superficial. it's not really a soulful connection. Just a collision of two vessels. The Beauty.

The Beast.

Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Beast. Not wasting time to show you I'm yours. See, you being mine isn't any concern of mine because well, when you know your worth you don't wait to be told you're worthy. You go for what's yours without mercy. And I'm not just saying this as if
You don't have a choice
But you know a go getter gon get it.
and you are somebody I'm trying to get it with. Because see, I'm not just trying to grow, I'm trying to flourish. Nor am I trying to be tamed. Just let me be the Beast, that sees the Beauty in you, Babe.