One friend is deaf but manages to hear twice as much as I do,
while simultaneously embedding himself in games and genius.
One friend is kind and smart, always complimenting and supporting others before herself.
One friend is quiet, and she is both easily embarrassed
and easily embarrassing.
One friend is the previous friend's brother,
and crushes on me while never saying enough.
One friend is very intelligent and geeky,
and detests wearing skirts even more than I.
One friend is really in your face and dramatic,
pushing the boundaries on everything, but noone hates him.
One friend is the unfortunate brother of a great annoyance, but is her polar opposite.
One friend has hair of constantly changing color;
blue, green, pink, black, yellow, brown,
but always the same hoodie no matter her hair choice.
One friend has a thousand faux laughs,
but guards his true one from the light.
One friend has a mocking joke for everything,
and you can't help but laugh with her.
One friend has a treasured hat and while sketching everyone, everything, and everywhere, lays my insecurities to rest as I do the same for him, both of us in need of some love
and understanding from a kindred spirit.
One friend has an obsession with a band and a book and a show, and an overbubbling enthusiasm for everything in her life.
One friend has a meme for everything,
and a perverse thought for every situation he encounters.
One friend is half blind but she manages to see twice
as much as me and explains everything beautifully.
One friend is crazy and gets away with the exclamation of abraham lincoln in any awkward silence because its just his nature.
One friend is as a mouse, but a genius in every aspect
and hides behind her glasses.
One friend is obnoxiously loud and more of a dork than the gangster his hoodie implies so everyone simply laughs.
One friend smiles like a duck in the cutest way,
and wears her square glasses in the best way.
One friend longs for a love that is loyal
and hide s behind his temperment

Blip. Blip. Blip
In the black of my room a red light pulses langorously on my phone
Steady green and blue lights and a rapid orange define the router across the room
Red digital numbers stand in the place of the clock
At precisely 6:00 am my alarm goes off(a deranged rooster entrapped in my phone)
A flick of a finger dismisses the crowing and the day has begun
After dressing and any other trivial task, I  am headed downstairs
A chik of the toaster
One beepbeepbeep of the microwave
More digital numbers, this time green, indicate that my bus comes shortly and I dash off
The headlights of the bus announce its presence half a block before it halts and the doors jerkily slide open
I text Graham from five feet away, because I don't yet know enough sign language
On the bus the driver may make an announcement, various lights and a few wires around her seat
School starts with a bell and the mindless herd shuffles in
The hallways bustle with the noise of teenagers chatting noisily, ipods playing, cells buzzing, beeping, texting
Homeroom and every period after is marked by a bell before and after until the last bell, freeing us from our institution of education
Now everyone is really alive and the clammer of sounds is three times as loud as the morning.
On the bus all but the most obnoxious are silent, closed off in their little world of a cellphone, ipod, or mp3
The kids file on and off the bus, only waking from their technology induced zombification to rapidly vocalize with their friends
Once I get home microwave humms as food is reheated or quickly cooked
The rice cooker is prepped and light flips on when plugged into the wall
Coffee maker may be set, and if my dad is home, his workspace is humming and light-pulsing as well
Brother and sisters argue over which tv show to watch or first computer turn while I'm wrapped up in my world of texting homework and poetry
Mom arrives from school and dinner is made
Stove humming loud and food stirfryed
Dinner no blips beeps or pulses matter, just the clinking of silverware and conversation
Afterwards, faucet runs dishes clattering while I wash
Imersion resumes and videos, games, and homework take over until bed
Teeth are brushed, pajamas donned, and members of this family mess around in bedroom before slowly transitioning to bed, and then sleep
So ends another day for me in the 21st century

I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush  over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.

Before I had you, I never worried about losing you
Only about never getting you
Now that I have you I mostly worry about loving you
Because if we do leave each other
The reason will be a good one
We love each other too much for it to be otherwise

Red is the color of passion, but the passion of love
A firey burning sensation, heating and fueling lover's desire
Orange is the color of energy, blinding, and fast
Zipping through space and recharging the multiverse
Yellow is the color of friendship, sunshine and bright
Lifting frowns and bringing joy to all
Green is the color of life, growth, expansion
Of Gaia and the vibrant vivacity of Mother Earth
Blue is the color of sadness and melancholy and despair
Of the salty water of both tear and sea
Indigo is the color of calm and surging stillness, contemplation
And intellect, the color of knowledge
Violet is the color of passion also, the passion of music and art
Powerful and strong, mellowed and smooth
And octamarine is the color of magic, the eighth color of the rainbow, falling off the edge of the world into space
White and black, not contained within a rainbow, but both contain the rainbow themselves, they intertwine, yin and yang
White signifying good, pureness, gaiety, life
Black symbolising evil, taint, gloominess, death

You said you'd always protect me
And that you'd never hurt me
That you'd love me and hold me
And I was your precious.
But can you protect me from yourself?
My missing you and crying inside
Pretending to be stronger than I am
A defiant faerie, who wants no help
Pushed over and pushed around
I fight back and get up every time
Persist and hold my ground
But you still have yet to show mercy
Perhaps you don't know, but I
I am still subject to your blows and graces
And still defy those stronger

Chirp chirp
A sparrow hops and flitters
Jumps and flutters
From branch
To branch
To wire
Lining up with all her friends
Waiting for some skybus to take them away
Twitter and chortling about the world below
Silly humans in their lucid bubbles of
Space
Squirrels chattering and cussing from the trees
Thieving birdseeds and peaches
Meanwhile the sparrow bounces on the wire
Jittery and full of energy
Twitching and flicking her feathers and tail
Boune bounce hop
Fidget and jump on straw thin legs
And then whoosh
All leave at once
Their invisible skytrain pulling away as fast as it comes

I'm half asian so everyone thinks I speak 'asian'
Which just goes to show their ignorance, thinking that's a language
Another strange causation because of my 'asianness' is that I:
Can always win arguements with Wyatt by stating this fact
Was declared a ninja even before my skills were proven
I surprise people with my appearance and when I reveal my ethnicity as they believe initially that I'm mexican, italian, or spanish
Was assumed to have gone to the same church as all the others
Am considered strange, exotic, weird, genius, awesome, and stupid
Am endearingly called a 'short asian woman/lady/girl' by friends
Oh and I love love love love chopsticks, rice, and spicy foods.
Pass the srirachi and pepper please

buzzzzzzz
The bus engine idles
Intensifying the hammering of little gnomes
On my skull
Their tin mallets ***** dinking incessantly
Throbbing
Painful numb as waves crash to escape
The confines of my head
A small clownfish throwing his tiny body
Against the walls again
And again
And again
ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump
The bus hits three large bumps in a row
Jostling and jolting me into excruciating confusion
So tired and so alert
Drifting off to consciousness
I have got to escape this headache...

Worlds physical? Or worlds mental?
It makes all the difference.
Without the sciences it wouldn't matter either way
The last time I was taken from earth without moving?
Excepting when reading, with math.
Tesselations and fractals and numbers
Numbers have a flow all their own
Without numbers, meter and rhyme couldn't be
Even now, without numbers this discussion could not be held
Even now this typing is numbers
It may not look it, but its all ones and zeroes
The angle and curvature of every letter defines language
I say nay my friend, nay
I never spoke the words declaring math and science the crown of humanity
And the words stating english its clothes
They are important, both in their own way,
But think of this: you cannot do math
Nor calculate the distance from venus to the
Andromodean galaxy without math
But think also of this: communication may exist without english
Numerical codes and codexes and letters written entirely in numbers or symbols
Do exist
I dare not refute the value of english, but do you argue the language or the study?
The study can be done away with and easily
Put to rest, as it had to be created
The language too was created and came from
Some mother language
But we always had math.
Does not even an ape know that an even split
To a banana is half?
Apes have no words as we think of them
But still, they do not have english
They don't have a grammar and spelling system nor manner of speaking,
They communicate perfectly well, even without words
But how are they to place value on objects without math?
Even some crude understanding of value
Is math
A banana must be worth less than two, no?
English resides on emotion and feeling, whereas math and numbers rest upon fact
How does one win an arguement without numbers?
Even now you use them.

Math
Numbers
The only things everyone
And everything have in common
You can find mathematical proofs written
In between the stars
Numerical sequences hiding beneath a fern
That unfurls to reach the heavens
No one can deny, one will always equal one
And the sum of two numbers will never change
Truths remain truths no matter the language
I can't see how my friends can say 'I hate math'
Or how people say 'numbers are stupid'
Numbers and math comprise the essence of life
On another planet the number pi and
Sierpinski's triangle may have different names
But their rules remain the same
Math and numbers make up geometry
Which is full of tesselations, and fractals
And beautiful diagrams and principles
How can you not love something like the
Golden Ratio, or the Fibonacci sequence?
They provide the curl of a fern, the twist of
A snail's shell, the spiral of a pineapple
And rotation of axial leaves
Such a beautiful, never changing system
That appears in so so many forms
Why be bored when you can play with fractal-y
Tesselating doodles?
And don't even get me started on science...

I am the zombie of Tinkerbell
Her living corpse
Dress sparkles all faded
Tinkling like a broken bell
My fairy dust no longer brings children the gift of flight
But endows my prey with the curse of second life
That I may twice devour their
Squirming, wriggling,
Writhing, scriggiling
Flesh
Just the way I like it
With a wide dark grin across my face
Teeth stained with blood and broken into points
Eyes dim, dull, and hallowed
Skin sallow and torn by the fighters,
Who battle for their death
Combatting the loss of their dignity
I lure them in with stale illusions and sickly sweet snares
Torn wings are no match for swift feet, but I manage
Pushed onwards, pulled forwards by a need, urge
To devour, consume, and engorge myself
Again with tender meat
And imbibe upon the sharp lifeblood
Of faerie.
For I, am the zombie Tinkerbell, and I hunger.
It's dinner time...

It's a bit funny
But on doomsday I found
No fear or tears shed by me
Somehow on the day of doom
I only found love and happiness
My best friend wasn't a loss
When he lost that title
In fact it was a gain,
And he exchanged for a new one
Fingers intertwining
Sitting close and talking
My incessantly icy fingers
Warmed by your touch
My smiles always flow easier
And more readily around you
I either talk too much or too little
But with you it seems fine
I wouldn't change much about
My doomsday
It was pretty **** near perfect
On my doomsday I found hope
What did you find?

Some people like fall, but not me.
It's full of death and decay, the gorgeous pieces of fire drift
from their skeletal homes and burn out into
sodden mushy brown paper.
Hard smooth and brown pebbles, spiky holey bombs, and twirly helicopter blades fall from the same skeletons and hide
beneath the paper, waiting for an innocent victim,
lying in the perfect position to slip someone up so that
they lose their bags and packages as they themselves go
slip slide crashing into the ground.
The victims are sure to rise up again, but with some bruises and bits of soggy brown, stuck all over their clothes
In fall, all the blooms of color decease, all fruit and vegetable and good green things die and leaves the world sodden mushy and brown.

Some people say they like winter, but not me.
It's a cold cruel and heartless season, robbing any last trace of life
from all helpless and left-behind creatures.
The vegetation becomes glazed over with melting glass and is the
one spot of beauty, as the only green left resides on prickly evergreens, housebound plants, and the occasional tacky
coat.
In winter, there is no way to leave your personal fortress without mountains of clothes, and so every person becomes a
chapped lipped, red cheeked, stiff fingered puffball.
Every time you jump into a mound of the white fluff that accompanies the dread season, some is bound to creep into your shirt and boots, freezing whatever it touches, and then ever so so slowly flowing along your skin, one of Gaia's little tortures.

Toys
What are they?
Ask someone to define a toy
And you may get an answer like
Something for a child to enjoy, a plaything
A more creative person may say
An object to be enjoyed, anything imbued with love
As for me, I might say the first, or the second
It’s all perspective
When a little child, I considered toys to be fun
Enjoyable, and probably bought from the store
A doll or bike, wooden blocks or a swing
But now, toys are different
Now, they are still enjoyable
But not “toys”
My notebooks
My brain
My pens
These are my new toys
I tend to create my own games these days
Drawing, writing, reading and thinking
Even these poems are my new fun

When here, you are a knife ****** into my heart and twisted to draw blood.
When away, you are the painful throb of longing in the middle of my chest.
When I see you pass without a word, I die, but rejoice at your merest glance.
When you are not anywhere, I search and worry about you even though it is not my place.
If I accidentally graze your arm or get you to utter some mere greeting, I feel the glow of a hundred thousand suns
And the edges of a million blades because you will never be mine.
But there is hope for the ease of my release, there is another
One who always returns my smiles and glances and greetings,
and laughs at my jokes that aren't really funny
Who cares that I exist and does not tarry to comfort and console when I am sunk in the marshes of despair and
when I wallow in pools of anxiety
I once thought you were sweet and wonderful, but now I know that he is truly sweet and kind, the quintessence of a gentleman and good friend
So I'm leaving any thought of you behind and strolling away in a better friend's company

In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless

A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.

I'm half in love with you
And I'm half in love with him
But this story twines two ways
So where do I begin?
I knew you first
Loved him later
Emotion, confusion
Is this fate or
Something else,
To consider
Because my heart won't belong
To random bidders
I know this is cheesy
And probably cliché
But I need to find some sense
In all this fray
So bear with my confusion,
And my state of mind
I hope only for love,
And one not unkind

I think boredom was made
Just to tickle the consciensces
And annoy the heck out of
Poets and thinkers like me

Here be dragons all old maps say
Here be dragons: beware, go'way
Noble knights and brave crusaders:
All steer clear and take detour
But whose to say these fearsome beasts
These terrible monsters of lore,
Who declared that these gentle giants
Live only to create gore
They may be misspoken for
And probably misunderstood
They could be timid gentile folk
Who dine on aether and fish
But nevermind the possibilities
Here be dragons: go'way, beware

First name:
A fire red, carrot orange, and dull rust
A dusty-on-the-outside-bright-spicy-and-wet-on-the-inside tuber
A dancer and cartoon
Second name:
Three short letters, one tonal syllable
From my mother's motherlanguage
Joy
Last name:
Hill of deer in German
(Also a Jewish name?)
Sounds like a chocolate sandwich
Makes my name a score of letters long

I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'

Bacon
Grease
Unpleasant slickness
Oil
Flith
A ***** feeling that you're overwhelmed by so you just want to get into a shower and scrub your skin raw
The one time my sisters and I played in mud and were covered in gritty goop
Losing the handle to the outside faucet
Cold icy water
Jumping into a creek and getting soaked
Cold water and cramping up, drowning
The ocean's waves pulling me under
Fear of drowning and ocean water forced down my throat
Salty water and the taste of the sea
Salt
Bacon

If our multiverse revolves around
Our universe revolves around
Our galaxy revolves around
Our solar system revolves around
Our sun.
Which is orbited by the Earth
(Which is orbited in turn by the moon and our space junk)
Which is composed of people and continental plates and oceanic plates, all drifting around and bumping into one another
Which are composed of molecules
Which are composed of elements
Which are composed of and are atoms
Which are composed of protons and neutrons in the nucleus
Which is orbited by spinning electrons that we can't even see,
Who is to say we are not an atom to some greater being?

Is a true hero one like Superman?
Name spread across the front page
Bold symbol blazoned across his chest
Or maybe a hero is like Batman
Operating in the shadows
Name barely dared whispered by evildoers
On the off chance he'll appear.
Perhaps a heroine is like Oracle
Helping from behind the scenes
Relaying crucial information
Maybe Daredevil is,
Defeating personal as well as social
Obsctacles, physical and mental
But no, I think a true hero is brave
Or kind or welcoming or even
Small-scale rebel or revolutionary
And needs no emblem shot into the skies
Needs no great ceremony of recognition
Or semblance of public thanks
Just a smile, or the thought that
A life has been changed for the better.

Half awake, making coffee
For my dad, not myself because I don't like it
No mugs so I grab a clean salsa jar
Fill it up not quite to the top so there's room for cream
Add the cream
And as it pours in, swirling up from the bottom,
A cream mushroom appears,
Growing in its ebony liquid environ
Swelling and dispersing to even the color
Mixing so the color is that of caramel or toffee
Still thinking about the mushroom
And the possibility to capture it as an image,
If only I can remember it

Its like a little round shiny green boat
Made just to carry a pale pink origami flower
And happiness...
That's my poetic answer.

I'm periwinkle,
Peri, perry wrinkle.
Perry the platypus in a time wrinkle.
A blue growling platypus in a time-space wrinkle.

Gifted
Gifted means nothing to people who do not know
I don’t even know the proper definition
Strange that I do not know a part of myself?
I think not.
C’est la vie – such is life
But why must only a few be burdened with this white elephant?
Yes, a white elephant
For although termed a gift, it comes with its own price
On my school’s website, on the gifted page, there is a file
This file, entitled, giftedness; a different kind of normal
Aptly named I think
The upsides? Exactly me.
The downsides? All perfectly describe me as well
My ‘gifted’ friends are just the same
Why is this a gift if it sets us back in our standardized culture?
Sure, I ace the tests, but I can’t start projects until last minute
All because of my perfectionist side
I am a ‘deep thinker’
But I hate deadlines because they limit the
Time I spend on a good, fascinating subject
I’m considered to have the ability to motivate people
But it always comes out bossy
I'm supposed to have high standards and expectations(which I do)
But these fail me when I cannot reach them myself
Causing insecurity
These traits and numerous others all belong to my kind, the 'gifted' kids
I've noticed we're all socially inept, awkward, clumsy
To some degree or another
And I suppose this analytically mindedness comes along with my plethora of troubles
I'm supposed to have many interests, and this is true
But it also prevents me from knowing exactly what I want
I'm supposed to be very focused, detail oriented
But I cannot stand the slightest disturbance
These gifts are deemed part of the 'gifted' personality
Why can't I be normal for a change?
Being gifted really singles you out
Such a small group of us in my school
Almost all are best friends
As no one can understand us better than others just like ourselves
But why can't everyone be gifted?

I don't get this tough guy act
This facade of strength and invincibility
Put on by guys who work out
They brag and strut, show off their muscles
I think it's a bit pathetic.
Ok cool, you can lift 300 pounds,
Can you discuss poetry and science intelligentlly?
Why act invincible and as though you're more solid
Than a diamond, strong through and through
We both know you're more of a turtle,
Strong shell, and soft center that you pretend is nonexistant
In all honesty, I think guys do it to show up other guys
But I'm more into smart, funny guys
More lean than musclebound
And above all, gentle and kind
Sensitivity is not weakness and chivalry should not die

At my school though, it's dying
Some guy will run me over
And another will let the door swing
A third will simply push on through
The rare friend or stranger who stops and gives way
Who holds the door or makes some space
Is hard to find today, and precious

I'll never get this tough guy act,
Made of agression and violence
Fueled by pure testosterone
And removes all common sense.
So guys, please stop this tough guy act
Not a pretty sight at all
You'll beat each other up
For what all too? A girl? A prize?

How can one be half in love?
Perhaps with half a heart.
But how does one have half a heart?
Your soulmate is missing.

In every circle there is
An infinite number of triangles
In every triangle there is
An infinite number of circles
In every triangle there is
Another infinity of triangles
So then why the heck is there only
One circle in a circle?

In a glade the size of a potted plant,
On a blanket the size of a napkin,
There sat a pair, the queerest of all,
Pieris and little Rotkaepptchen.

One was a goldfish,
But not just a goldfish.
The other was a plant,
But not just any plant.
(He was a fern, get it right.)

These two had a mission only they could complete,
The Quest for the glorious NumNums.

The legend of NumNums
Was told far and wide,
And all NumNum lovers
Wanted them inside.
(Their tummies that is, don’t be inappropriate)

ANYWAY,
The NumNums were glorious,
Such a yummy treat,
Until they were poisoned,
That wasn’t so neat.

Pieris and Rotkaepptchen,
The task now at hand,
Set off on their journey,
Through strange, distant lands.

They navigated bedrooms,
They slid down the halls,
They were chased by vacuums,
And trapped by LEGO® walls!

This impossible mission continued,
Until, at last, success!
They found the trail’s end!
What joy! What bliss!
(Huzzah)

Now all that was required
Was to figure out the poison.
So they, without the antidote,
Could eat NumNums again

What a task that would be,
What work, what a chore!
Yet near the store of NumNums,
Upon the ***** floor,

They found a scrap of parchment,
With clues inscribed in black,
To reverse the candy’s poison
And bring them NumNums back
(Hollah!)

Into the woods they ventured,
They searched day and night
To find the precious antidote
And to relieve their plight.

For days, the land they scoured,
For ingredients rare and odd
Until they finally saw it,
Held captive by the frog!

The gleam of silica crystals,
The shine of his mucus
His curious croak was answered
With a meek “Help us.”

“Why should I?” he croaked again,
Staring them down drearily.
“I know not your quest,
I’ve only hints at the best.”

“Then surely you can help,
Surely you can try!”
Little Pieris yelped,
Looking about to cry.

“Don’t worry my friend!”
Rotkaeppchen declared
“For I’m he cannot resist
our plea, and most surely will assist.”

“Then, my dears, I solemnly swear
To help you in your need.
For here, this little draught of pear,
Will help you to succeed!”

And then, procuring a vessel
of the clearest glass
The wise old toad
Cleared his throat,
And promptly passed some gas.

“Excuse me,” he rumbled.
“Excuse me for that faux pas.”
And then he amphibiously
Handed over the pear draught glass

“Egads!” the two exclaimed,
Taking the glass cautiously.
But at last! They had the pear
And thanked him graciously.

At long last they had the cure,
The pear to fix the poison.
They took it back to the glade,
Where their lips they proceeded to moisten.

And that, my friends, is the last of our tale,
The tale of Pieris and Rotkappchen
The daring elves of yore.
With NumNums three,
Under the TumTum tree
They lunched and brunched once more.
And now, we’ve reached the end.

Isn't it interesting how the
Fountain of Youth
Elixir of Life
And Tree of Knowledge
Fill the spread of faerie tales,
Legends, and myths, but
We have no
Fountain of Age
Elixir of Death
Or Tree of Ignorance?
Sure they aren't usually helpful,
But they'd make for some
Cool plot twists.
The protagonist accidentally
Eating fruit of the Tree of Ignorance
And forgetting his purpose and self
Only to be reminded by
His companion or leading lady.
The evil wizard drinking from
The Fountain of Age by fluke
And crumbling away into dust
A young hero or heroine
Searching for the Elixir of
Death to end misery of theirs, or anothers

In a universe of toys and dolls there was
One planet
That is to say, there wasn't one planet alone,
But one specific planet
This was the planet of stuffed creatures
The second home of teddy bears
And velveteen rabbits
The place for old friends full of fluff and honey,
Old grey donkeys and shy pink piggies
The place to go after they've been loved to pieces
The over loved and worn are
Ever so tenderly pieced together
The battered and abused are mended
Comforted with thoughts of laughter and sun
Given extra shiny buttons and softer filling
The loved and misused have all have come here
The adored and discarded have all come home
Long after their time on Earth is through
Once burned or trashed or lost
Little angels fly them to the new world
For a second life of happiness
Home to the land of stuffed creatures

My friend lives
With anemia and a stomach ucler
With the past of an alchoholic father and an abusive brother
With emotionally abusive ex-girlfriends
Who sometimes plays the butler
With a crammed-full-to-the-seams schedule
With a previous eating disorder and cutting
With the mind of a genius
With the heart of a saint
With the hands of an artist
With a bevy of friends, willing and eager to help
With freedom and a job
With with me, Wyatt, Julia, and Tom on the other end of the phone
Waiting for his call for help
But he is so quiet, pushed into a world of silence, dark, and miserable art
He shelters himself from all, and so we hover nearby
Searching for a crack in the walls of his dungeon, but all we find is a window
He holds the key, but does not yet realise it
So we coaxe and console and soothe, vocalising our concerns and aid
Reaching towards him to pull him away, to touch his heart with the
Hope that a gentle caress, a well placed sweet stroke of kindness may
Free him from his torment
But as of yet, we are still trying

I know I blame you
For the hurt and break
For the sickness and longing
And for the invisible barrier between us,
Thin and strong as spidersilk
I deemed you hardhearted
Mercurical in emotion
And swift to raise walls.
But perhaps I was too quick to judge.
After all, you came here at just eleven years
You were tormented by peers, much like me
Your family has been split and shattered
When we were together, we were so close,
I clung to you like a baby bird
But I think you clung to me as well,
I just didn't see it because you held differently
And your touch was so gentle.
You claim to be over me, and to have successfully
Forgotten what we had, even though you also
Claim to have loved me, right before the split
But I think your indifference, your shields and shells
Are made because you also were hurt and ache and
Are created if only to protect a tender belly and soft heart.

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

Asian faerie pirate
Beautiful pirahna
Dancing firelights
Conversion faeries
Benny Grunch
Phantasmagoric unicorns
Mardi gras
Terpsichorean cassowaries
King cake
Satircal parody
Highly intelligent humor
Unliving dead
*******
Planned obsolescence
French Quarter
Baton Rouge
Rock & roll

Beautiful piranha
Bare your teeth in a scheming grin
Pull back your harsh red lips
Flash your blue-green-gold coat of scales
Blood thirst blinding your eyes
White boney razor teeth gnashing,
Biting on empty space
Dart around your territory
With your cliques of similarly minded
Similarly equipped predators
Your body specifically designed
To be irresistible
To let you spot your victim,
****** them,
And go for the jugular

Beauty queens on the Hollywood scene
Plastic surgery before the age of fifteen
Striving to look like somebody else
Not happy with life nor even themselves

Riding 'round Beverly hill with Porsches, and Mercedes too
Strutting their stuff with brand new Jimmy Choos
Tiny lap dogs wearing diamond studded collars
Designer clothes costing many a pretty dollar

Watching the sun set over Beverly Hills
As the man on the corner passes out ****** pills
Life is unreal on both sides of the ditch
No matter how much you have, life's still a *****

And as you inhale the intoxicating clean air
Think: your vault might empty, and quickly be bare
But you'll still have family and friends and old fashioned love
(Though to be honest, you're never as free as The Dove)

The dove that flew off so long ago
Leaving the filth of it all far down below
In search of brighter days and bluer skies
Leaving Hollywood to deal with their own web of lies

This dove we speak of, he was truly free
Flew away so he could find his own special tree
No more worries of blank eyed starlet's destruction
No more worries of the wicked red-eyed Hollywood corruption

Maybe its just me
And my megalomania
My overblown ego
But I keep seeing and hearing
Faerie
Fairy
Fae
Fey
Everywhere I go
In chemistry: the conversion faerie
(She don't exist)
In lunch: the tooth fairies
(They might exist)
Everywhere: helpful faeries
(Of course they exist)
So is it just in my head, or are faeries creeping back?
Through the tangles of mental barriers
Near the frontmost of our subconsciouses
Maybe it's my nicknames becoming more prominent
Perhaps I'm just being silly
And maybe I'm simply pigheaded
But maybe it's true

Hello! Hello! Over here!
Step closer, lean nearer
Ladies and gents
Laddies and lasses
Dogs and sheep of all ages
Listen as I tell you of my fabulous new invention:
The bobby pin.
It pins hair and cash alike
A paper clip in a pinch
Open locks
Dig a coin from a crack in the floorboards or
Mark your spot in a book
Put all over your face and fingers,
And make ridiculous looks.
Poke a hole in some paper,
Moustache in a moment
The uses are endless my friends,
You can't live without it!
So crowd around, line up
And buy a set of your very own
Muiltpurpose,
Bobby pins

Why do we sentient beings,
We intelligent masses of flesh and bone
Feel an inclination to wonder?
To admire and collect and ****** beautiful things?
To pluck a flower from a forbidden garden,
And to taste  lethal meat?
To see and feel and smell
And hear and taste
Until our synapses overload
And we experience nothing more
Than an achingly painful
And powerfully unsurpassable joy?
Maybe this is what it means to be human...

Before I die, yes I know, I'm only 15,
But before I die
I want to live as no one has lived ever before
Smell the most gorgeous aroma
Feel the softest object, pet the gentlest lamb
Play and wrestle with a cub, be it lion, tiger, or bear
Go for a long long walk in the woods with one friend
And sit together talking and capturing instants on paper
I want to learn four languages, or five, or six
Spend one entire weeked in bed, catching up on books
Read the most glorious poem and hear the sweetest song
Fully enjoy my career and learn enough about bones
Be able to know when someone is lying and
To die, really really happy.

My cherry tree stands quite tall, bearing fruits and flowers
Good for climbing  and snacking, breathing and thinking
Walk out upon a limb, and lean against a branch
To calm and relax and hang out with friends
Laughing and joking, playing and singing
Hot sticky summers, made all the stickier by cherries
Sunshine dappled grass beneath the tree
The perfect Treffpunkt for all us monkeys and goofballs.

We both lean in, both eager, and me hesitant;
not for what is to come but the thought that once it happens,
There is no more chance for the First.
Leaning in, I inhale sharply, breathing ragged breaths,
Eyelids half shut
Faces so close I can hear his steady breathing, even though this is The First for him as well,
Bodies so close I imagine I can feel his heartbeat, chest expanding with each breath
Whisper unintelligible sweetness into my ear, words tickling my skin,
And the smell of sweet boyish deliciousness.
His nose presses against my cheek
Soft lips touching mine
Pressing
Breathing
Never wanting this moment to end.
We kiss and it feels like time stops only for us and we are barely touching but it's more than enough
And then my little sister runs up, and I have to take her home.
We stand and shyly gaze at each other, your bike, my sister and a few feet of air between us as we say goodbye and you mention looking up something insignificant at home
I walk the seventy-five feet to my house and you race off on your bike, both bashful of what has passed between us and still thirsty for more of each other.
The next day at school we meet in the hallway and walk to first period together, murmuring shyly
about It, air between our arms electric, and I'm desperate.
Desperate to touch you,
To fall into your embrace
And touch my lips to your neck,
Face,
Lips,
And never leave you for an instant,
No need to say a single word
Just be with you and comb my fingers through your hair,
And breathe.

I want you.
I want to snuggle between your arms and your chest, wrap my legs up with yours and feel you breathe.
I want to nuzzle into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and feel your warmth against my skin.
I want you to kiss me and rub my hair softly like you do sometimes.
I want to mumble sleepily into you and somehow you understand.
I want to laugh and goof off together and curl up under blankets and feel safe and warm in your arms.
I want to lie a little bit away and watch your expressions and play with your hair.
I want to stroke the soft skin on your cheek and neck and kiss you.
I want to say I love you a thousand times and once more for luck.
I want to slip my hands under your shirt and press them against your back to pull myself towards you and nuzzle into you and breathe you in.
I want to press close and confuse your heart beat and the motion of your lungs.
Mostly as long as I'm close to you, I feel safe.