A gentle squeeze of the hand
A blushing cheek meets his eye
His heart aches, her cheeks blush
Like cherries in a hot pink pie.
He kisses her face, on the side
of her itsy bitsy nose.
She giggles, plays into his hands
Which is holding a **** rose.
His blood rushes round,
he enquires of her intention
She looks at her diary, free  next week
the next day does not get a mention.
Disappointment darkens the hour
He fiddles with his tie
She grabs his tie and pulls him closer
and her wet sparkly lips taste of cherry pie.
So sweer the embrace, so full of "I want more"
She relaxes, his hand slides down
and unlocks the key of the door.
That key is stiff he thought
better loosen the grip
She pants, he blushes and
finally reveals her little slip.
So silky, so divine, it falls to the floor
So passionate, so forgiving
and she bolts hastily through the door.
"Come back" he shouts, but she has gone
"Not likely" she retorts, what's your game?
He is confused, as men usually are
"But I thought you wanted the same".
Men and women are from two planets
Men from Zog and women from mars.
Men, well we cant do without them
their annoying habits and love of cars.
Women, we are good stuff, I have to say
But at the end of the day, we're all the same
We like our love in the old fashioned way.

My dad said,
Son...
one day your gonna want a family,
and it has been the curse of
the male of our line,
to take forever to decide
what they want,
and he gave me names,
examples and dates,
and I nodded along smiling,
seething,
He said,
Baby boy,
Little kid,
Go back to college and i'll pay your debt
as if he wasnt struggling to make ends meet,
as is.

He said, Do this,
or later you will come to regret,
and wish that you did,
and I shook my head.
AND I SAID.
I want to be sane and happy!
I shall have no regrets,
I have much too many!
Life has stolen everything from me,
making me who I am,
someone who finds no shame
in quit.
I have no drive or will,
what is success or money,
But prostitution of the human
driven by the dollar and
Societies judgmental mills
to ostracize those who don't fit the mold,
who don't want to dream,
who don't want to build,
Because being an American it seems,
Is being an individual,
as long as you are an individual,
they want you to be, and if your not,
they are french,
and cest la ******* vie.

And I said,
Dad, You are looking down upon me.
I may want a family, in fact I'd have one today,
if anyone was willing,
But I doubt anyone will love me,
and even if they did, I proclaim,
quite meatily,
We don't need money,
We will get by, the best we can
as everyone else does.
No better or worse.
Just, simply,
existing.
Hopefully,
Happily.

But no, he proclaimed,
you'll want a house some day!
Some where to raise your kids,
At least, if not college,
if that won't make you happy,
come work for me,
sell cars, get a beach house,
as a dad I felt his need to just
give me something,
because as he's never really understood me,
I think he's still always tried the best he could.
And on this, my perceptiveness got a hold of me,
and much to my shame
I Said; Yes.

When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops & karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
& because my grandmother thought it was cute
& because they were my favorite,
she let me keep doing it

Not really a big deal

One day,
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
& bruised the right side of my body

I didn't want to tell my grandmother about it
because I was afraid I'd get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn't have been

A few days later,
the gym teacher noticed the bruise
& I got sent to the principals office
From there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie
As far as I was concerned,
life was pretty good
I told her, "Whenever I'm sad,
my grandmother gives me karate chops!"

This led to a full scale investigation
& I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruise

News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
& I earned my first nickname

Pork Chop

To this day
I hate pork chops

I'm not the only kid
who grew up this way
Surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks & stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
& we got called them all
So we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
That we'd be lonely forever
That we'd never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
That an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
That there's no way for it to metastasize

It does

She was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
We both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop getting bombarded by spit *****
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
We used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
Outside we'd have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
In grade five,
they taped a sign to her desk that read
Beware Of Dog

To this day,
despite a loving husband,
she doesn't think she's beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn't quite get the job done
& they'll never understand
that she's raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
because she's only ever always been amazing

He
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
Adopted
Not because his parents opted for a different destiny
He was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
& two parts tragedy
Started therapy in 8th grade
Had a personality made up of tests & pills.
Lived like the uphills were moutains
& the downhills were cliffs
Four fifths suicidal
A tidal wave of anti depressants
& an adolescence of being called Popper
One part because of the pills,
ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
He tried to **** himself in grade ten
when a kid who could still go home to mom & dad
had the audacity to tell him "Get over it," as if depression
is something that can be remedied
by any of the contents fround in a first aid kit

To this day
he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends
Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it's about to fall
& despite an army of friends
who all call him an inspiration,
he remains a conversation piece between people
who can't understand
Sometimes becoming drug free
has less to do with addiction
& more to do with sanity

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way

To this day
kids are still being called names
The classics were
hey stupid
hey spaz
Seems like each school has an arsenal of names
getting updated every year
& if a kid breaks in a school
& no one around chooses to hear,
do they make a sound?
Are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
when people say things like
kids can be cruel?
Every school was a big top circus tent
& the pecking order went
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
All of these were miles ahead of who we were
We were freaks
Lobster claw boys & bearded ladies
Oddities
juggling depression & loneliness playing solitaire, spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves & heal
But at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
It was practice
& yes
some of us fell

But I want to tell them
that all of this ****
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought
we used to be
& if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself,
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there's something inside you
that made you keep trying
Despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
& signed it yourself
You signed it,
"They were wrong!"
because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a clique
Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
Maybe you used to bring bruises & broken teeth
to show & tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
You have to believe that they were wrong

They have to be wrong

Why else would we still be here?
We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
because we see ourselves in them
We stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called
We are not abandoned cars stalled out &
sitting empty on a highway
& if in some way we are
don't worry
We only got out to walk & get gas
We are graduating members from the class of
we made it
Not the faded echoes of voices crying out
Names will never hurt me

Of course
they did

But our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain
& more to do with *beauty

Im so ew
And he's so aw
It will never work.
I will just fall

I will fall for his pretty blue eyes
And his smile that never fails
His beautiful personality
That gives me chills

I see you daily
and I've come to realize
that nothing of you is flawed.

These past years
I have been privileged
to see you:
receive letters from division I athletics
blossom from the flower of puberty
and live in a gorgeous home.

But as I broke through your flawless facade,
I saw hurt and vulnerability,
I no longer saw perfection.

Your mother- lost to cancer,
your father- an angry man,
your siblings- hateful.

I have been puzzled
to see you:
deny admissions to division I schools
let your hair grow scraggly, your face become oily
and your house be foreclosed.

You are not what I thought you were.
You are like me
you are weak
hurt
abandoned.

You, like me, are not perfect.

The light was the star shinning in the dark,
the feeling was the blood bleeding in the heart,
the rain was just the eternal pain,
everything was fine everything was sane.

But the feeling in the heart was in itself a lie,
the shooting star fell down and died,
the almighty showers sobered down,
INSANITY ALL AROUND !

Death stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.

perched in a thick mess of pine trees
my head rotates three hundred and sixty degrees
scouring for the vermin I make my prey
I own the night time skies
silhouetted against a harvest moon
death is coming in my dreams
and with it comes new life
wisdom of the self
aware of the lies which cover the world in its blanket of grey snow
the owl lives in my skull

The coyote stalking the empty desert highways
looking for roadkill
looking for the weak and alone
I cackle into the dead sterile air
for every pack member lost to poachers
manic laughter for every left turn which results in dead ends
stealthy patient
hungry and haunting
the coyote treads the territory of my atriums and ventricles  

The hawk circles in the blinding midday sun
a deadly serrated dagger with wings
arrow let loose from the quiver of the Gods
impossible to tether and domesticate
finding ultimate freedom in the vast openness of the sky
lock on,
tuck the wings,
nose dive deep into the waters of the ****
a creator
a teacher
a messenger of truth
the hawk soars in the infinity of my soul

ID
EGO
SUPEREGO