Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".

This is the key to it.
This is the key to everything.
Preciously.

I am worse than the gamekeeper's children
picking for dust and bread.
Here I am drumming up perfume.

Let me go down on your carpet,
your straw mattress -- whatever's at hand
because the child in me is dying, dying.

It is not that I am cattle to be eaten.
It is not that I am some sort of street.
But your hands found me like an architect.

Jugful of milk! It was yours years ago
when I lived in the valley of my bones,
bones dumb in the swamp. Little playthings.

A xylophone maybe with skin
stretched over it awkwardly.
Only later did it become something real.

Later I measured my size against movie stars.
I didn't measure up. Something between
my shoulders was there. But never enough.

Sure, there was a meadow,
but no young men singing the truth.
Nothing to tell truth by.

Ignorant of men I lay next to my sisters
and rising out of the ashes I cried
my *** will be transfixed!

Now I am your mother, your daughter, your brand new thing -- a snail, a nest.
I am alive when your fingers are.

I wear silk -- the cover to uncover --
because silk is what I want you to think of.
But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern.

So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the ****** learns.

I am unbalanced -- but I am not mad with snow.
I am mad the way young girls are mad,
with an offering, an offering...

I burn the way money burns.

I wonder about the pearl
that sits in her pocket
preciously hidden
like a photo in a locket.
I wonder what it means
when it gets to be seen.
Does it hide in fear?
Fragile
in need of protection.
Or is it very present-
at risk of detection.
Embarrassing reveal-
so tucked away and sealed.
I wonder about the pearl
I wish to steal.

My heart bleeds blue at midnight. I heard owls hooting in my despair. Alone ,I lay naked underneath the beaming moonlight. I touch slowly my neck and close my eyes. Thinking of a predator I been waiting for a lifetime slowly slithering its warmth on my thighs.So preciously antagonizing my soul with its piercing eyes.It's breath is an intimidating musical hiss. I crave it's injection. Hiss between every piercing kiss.I touched myself harder as the owls hooted into the moonlight. I needed you. Imagining my predator teasing my heated skin with its cold fangs. Immensely waiting for its long hollow teeth to pierce me. While wishing, it instantly became the predator of my heart as it slither around my skin.The music began to start.Predator started to taunt, looking for the sweetest fatal bite.My soul began gasping harder, My predator, oh please prey on me harder.Slither uncontrollably, slither harder as my breaths change heavily. Predator inject itself slowly through every bite.Oh I am in love.It was perfect dosage. This is love. Intoxicating every blood vessel of my body.Every bite,I felt more yours. I instantly became weaker, your bite was the perfect dosage for the ****. It was perfect dosage.The perfect poison. This was love. The perfect *******. Underneath the moonlight , vivaciously sweating naked I screamed. Longing more for your touch.The owl hooted once more, morning has come.
I awake , I was loved for the first time.

With its injection ,
**The predator righteously own my crimson heart

You are the last person I would expect
To smile with the glimmer that you have
To laugh with the excitement that you do
To talk with the clarity that you can.

They left you for dead
You watched your father die beside you
A bullet in your leg
Beats a bullet to his vitals.

Fifteen, you are but fifteen
When Daddy's telling you to play dead
They'll go away, just be quiet
He coos
So you do your best not to scream
As you lose blood like energy.

You wake up in a hospital bed
Bandages caressing your injured calf
A nurse tells you to turn on the news
As you ask where your father is.
The television set won't lie to you.
The flat screen relays the message
He's dead.

Years later, still living in the slums
That you so preciously embrace as your home
At seventeen, you're the only sibling without kids
But you have been deemed caretaker.

Yet, to total strangers of different race
Those who barely know suffering
From an affluent community, from generally "good" homes
You tell your story
And leave them with a lasting impression.

You are the spitting image of bravery, fearlessness, courage
And still,
No one's there to save you.
You are your own hero
Your driving force.
And no one will take the greatest gift you have away from you:
Joy, and the ability to grace others with the same.

I fret torpidly in my lair;
Your scent is around, but I've seen nobody.
'Tis sordid about me, with rolls of dutiful smoke—
and unleashed winds growling about unseen.
Beside me here stands a perfect mirror, a perfect glass,
But nothing seems imperative, nor talkative, nor patient;
Everything is just silent—what a robust fear—foolish impediment.
Ah, if only can I fast **** this petulant temperament—
do you think I shall feel better, or magnified?
I feel that myself is like a wind:
Thin, fragile, and constantly diving and swelling upwards.
Even my narrative is about to betray me;
Vehemently indeed—should this happen,
I might be able no more to write any poetry—
As my chest above there hysterically bellowed, I shall be pushed upwards—
Upwards, upwards, I am curling upwards—like we all naturally are,
Over the earth, along the oceans, and their sample images of Paradise;
Every single day, at noon, and against this midnight sky.
 
My darling has left, and thus I have but Him in my shabby hands;
With skin marred and scratched and dried by the rude winter;
Ah, say, but who says that winter is clever and polite?
Like my love perhaps is, she is but a relic—or even statue, of blunt disgrace—
She is neither merry nor cordial; she never is aromatic, and flaws us with its brutal haze.
 
I am alone, alone, alone, and totally alone—
O my love, my love, my love, where can I peruse
your felicity just once more?
I have but loved thee all along;
I love thee as magnificently and preciously
as I loved thee one year back and yesterday.
You are my purplish, reddish, greenish, but incompatible moon,
You are comparable still, to the joyous soul of this stained poem;
by whom my love has thrived, by whom I can always replenish.
I shall rise you again within my dreams;
I shall face myself within your sour vapour—but never let you fade.
I shall let you halt my paint, and brush dirt upon it;
I shall let you scatter your grossness over me, and acquire even your sins;
But as long as you are there, over me, I am not scared but keen;
I shall not be mesmerised, nor even heart be broken and pained.
May my heart break, so long as it has its consolation floating by.
 
Ah, and who, beside this breakable moon—can claim my erupt forth;
To comfort my sleep and give solace to my shrieking doors;
And throw unheeded calm into my quiet walkways;
While looking me in the eyes as we step sideways.
Who can ambush my chest along this hairy path;
With a charm far stronger than yon behind the grass;
Who can heal me, and who can heal me not,
Ah, have I but still the courage to make this right?
I shall look for you again amongst the city roars and rumblings;
I shall look for you again in the mornings—and amongst the bleakness of evenings.
 
Look, my love, how the rainbows have a turquoise face today;
So beautifully crafted and charted like the skies of yesterday;
I should fall asleep now, but still—I don't want to be lulled alone without you;
Even though you are faraway, I can still feel your breath and air.
Your absence, as I hope then, shall fast perish;
For I want to grow old not by the countenance of miseries.
I want to be injected into your space now—as maelstroms of sleeps greet me again,
And as the clouds of heaven start to feed on me;
I shall feel light again, and thereby not turn grey;
I shall feel that you have welcomed me back;
I shall feel your breath tingling by the sides of cheeks;
I shall feel my hairs anew—as they raise against the corners of my neck.
 
And there we shall play together against the sky;
Against its pedal who anew blooms in wan suspicion;
Ah, my love, I shall entangle you then—in my varied, and multiplied visions;
I shall tell you the funniest of one thousand lies.
I shall give you only the finest of kisses, and jokes;
I shall startle you by my poem and my beautiful black locks.
Ah, thee, to you whom I have written this poem, and shall always do;
To you whom I have loved, and have to this day admired;
To you for whom a forest of grace and salutations has been dreamed;
To you for whom my heartbeat grows, and fastens and slows,
To you for whom I woke up today, and open my eyes tomorrow;
 
To you whom I have loved in the name of Him;
To you for whom I lit the glitters of the sky;
To you for whom my heart was startled and passed justly by;
To you for whom my palms sweated and eyes started to cry;
 
To you for whom griefs disperse into brighter saturations;
To you for whom life continues, and gives birth to more immediate sparkles;
To you for whom I have celebrated my soul; and made one true promise;
To you by whom I have halved my heart, and without whom shall never 'come the same anew;
 
To you for whom all favours are spelled, and words dedicated;
To you for whose grins I shall wait again forever;
To you whose eyes are darker than the midnight river;
To you by whom my belief shall stay strong, and consciously devoted;
 
Ah, you, my love, so this remorse shall fall over me and back again,
With creases I curse, and remarks that my ruined chest censures;
Abhorred by the moon, and its very own celestial abode—
Which shakes and stretches along the crimson universe,
I have thrown my life into your horizontal, and longitudinal spectrums—
In both superficial and artificial ways, you have haunted me.
Ah, but still—cannot I erase your name from the fruit of every essentiality;
You are the sweet tyranny of my soul, and the leaves of my very gay sensibility;
You are the throne of my love; you are the specified satire—
though but funny and not—you are my destiny.
 
Like a vinyl birch tree that howls when stabbed, I have become your prey;
I shall wait for you at dawn and give my whole self to you at dusk.
I shall wait for you to claim my destined—and prescribed heart;
I shall wait for you to finish your abominable task,
As long as you can emerge for me—and listen to my poems and follow what I say.
 
And like a scar that stays for long in one's fair skin;
You are stubborn though things not go well;
Ah, let's now confess that your heart needs me;
But still—you are too proud, and far too docile, to admit your sin.
The question now is: how should we ever eradicate love?
Love is a prison, I know, and it is the most unforgiving jail;
It is merciless and painted by colours of abomination;
And nothing in it is plentiful—like Him in the shivering sky;
It is where tears crowd and gather—as I have perused;
It is where insolence and crudeness unite—even when not provoked.
 
Ah, my love, but have I fallen into this snare of love—whether or not I want it;
And your gaze is still the sole sweetness I hope to meet;
Never is my love sweeter—or petite, than a grain of wheat;
You are the foreverness for whom I shall sweat;
 
And in the loss of you lies my venomous assassination;
And I am wary now—and afraid of facing this everlasting trepidation;
Your shadows shall never go away, and for this I can be wronged;
For when I am dying—shall my mouth be falling asleep and recite your song.
 
My art has torn; it has been filthily murdered.
Its fervour was lost in, as you saw, just one wave of scenic mortality—
But still, the true essence might still be there, as it was once fertilised—
As by you, my Imagist, my Wilde, I was terrifically astonished by you.
You are my painting, my picture, and even the shared portrait of my self.
You share my veins, as how I supposedly hold some share of your blood.
Ah, and I remember now, how your warm blood did once touch my wrists—
So engagingly, so thrillingly, so brilliantly.
My heart, my head, my mind—all were brutally consumed by thee.
 
I want to die by thee, but you pierced my heart—
and in brief, made my spine grow dead tears;
Everything grew worse and I was manifested into your bitter triangle;
I was your lonesome moon who got forgotten soon;
Ah, it seems that yon French lady is better than I am—
With her curly hair and tittering oceanic eyes,
She was the filter of your noons, the storms
And devilish desires of your nights.
She was as gusty and spooky as the windblown thorn;
poisonous were her words, but still, you carried yourself to her.
I fretted and screamed and my blood gurgled—
but I guess I was fortunate still;
for I had the chance to keep myself pure and chaste
while you unstoppably sinned and defiled yourself.
So you were disgraced.
 
And you were enduringly consumed by your own fires;
The fires to which you confined yourself;
Not the calming, sooting, leafy bonfires we use in winter;
but ones you will also greet in the earth after.
Ah, thee, I felt but disgust towards your molested heart and deeds;
You grew for yourself, instead good ones—sick, avoidable seeds.
At that time, I swore to never ever share any more of my blood with you;
I would looked for one more honest, playful; one decorated with more virtues.
 
But still—as I said before,
I have again decided to sit and pray for you.
While my love for the other is not true;
It has faded and you are irreplaceable still;
You are congested, invalid, and not new;
But should you come back again to me;
I shall receive you with open hands
And one seal of heartfelt goodwill.
Ah, my love, look at the smiling heavens above—
As night deepens and snowfalls come low,
I shall think and think again about our postponed love—
Which, perhaps—though happens not amongst the jumble of this juvenile night,
Shall come again when dusk is cleared, and the first bud of spring leaps into sight.

Dancing In The Dark

Preciously waiting in the dark
holding on to my heart
it's beating like a bate without wings

Waiting to see if this love is true
I walk away in the pain of blues
that Dark Angel had given me

He keeps on tell me
that I need him like the lost sea needs me
oh, always in my dreams I would hear it scream
and the noise was everywhere!

The wave crashing in and out all over
the slated land where I stand
with Dark Angel holding my hand

He just looked at me with no care in his eyes  
only darkness Shed in his eyes like the dead
just one tear to let me know you even cared.

He whispers in my ear
just to say he will always be with me he will
never leave, he will even find me in dreams.
Dance with me in the rain to wash away your
fears my dear
  
Tell me what you see in me to make you hurt me
Dark Angel, he smiled and said Love is painful
Love makes the hear weep where you can never sleep
This is the Love I give and this is what You
will receive from me if you are with me.

  
He taken hold of my small waist narrowing
his hands almost at my ribs just to get a closer
feel of what he hungers for,
I will never let you go without a fight
the he looked deep in my eyes
I started to cry in so much agony.

Hold me close then ask me for a second dose
Of a dance in the rain in thunderstorm
of his pain of deep control
but I want to be free this you got to know
please Dark Angel let me go

I will keep saying I Love you if you want me to
But I just want to be free
My heart is made from gold I want you to
please let me go, you don't have to be so mean
to me, I will say in the rain I love you
I love you in the cold in the snow
But you know that will never be true.

It has been along year dancing in the rain
with you. I keep my eye shut because your lust
is to much, you take me down to take me apart
in so much pain.

You take my heart and beat it to the ground
I feel your love, I feel the cuts eating at my
dulcet heart making it cold, please let go.
  
the night the velvet Moon cried for me too
while Dark Angel was take over my life
like a thief in a cold dark night
with no one in sight but the moon.
  
Tell me you would never leave
He would tell me you need me like I need air to breathe
I cried with hurt in my eyes
but the rain was coming down so hard
you could never see my tears to be found.

Darkness and pain is the life you given me  
I cried out with shivers down my spin
losing my mind out in the cold  
I looked at him as he takes my hand for the next dance
to get under my skin.

You have my heart and you locked it down
as he spins me around
He uses his words as a weapon from my soul to fear
but I will not shed no more tears for you to hear.

Poetic Judy Emery © 1980
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery

In these clay-covered hands
I hold the last droplets of water
We laugh off the miseries
Drinking steaming tea
Stepping into pools of mud
Purposefully
Laughter on a leash
Follows us wholeheartedly
We hold onto the clouds
So that we don’t fall asleep
And miss these terracotta skies
That match our skin
Where within transcribed
Are hopes and dreams
A flower you are
So preciously delicate
And I’m here praying
That whatever I have left
Is enough to
Sustain
Your growth
Out of this midnight grief

naivety
the green kryptonite
of an irrevocably broken bond between
myself and the rest

and the sunset
composed of orange lucid dreams and
purple thoughts exchanged
between
myself and the rest

the flaw in all of this that plagued my preciously innocent mind was the
assumption
that you were the rest,
and that my naivety
was, in fact, a flaw
when truly,
it kept me from
conforming into the monster that I irrevocably am.

other people have forced me to bear the price of my own loneliness.
i was its first victim, its first culprit,
my hand, though, was not the one to take aim
and fire the most hurtful shot of all ;
isolation.

i do not look at you with vengeful eyes, because i have learnt to hold kindness preciously.
it is my sadness that is piercing, strong enough
to break my heart,
angry enough to build it back,
worse, if needed, just to go on and  
survive.

267 people are born every minute,
all over the world,
into pre made lives,
designed especially for them.

every minute,
108 people,
are tucked preciously,
into satin lined caskets,
to begin their journey to another life.

when you're five, you think you're going to live forever.
by your sixteenth birthday,
you're ready to die.

life isn't easy,
life isn't fair,
and at the end of the day nobody really cares,
who has the longest hair,
or who has the tiniest waist or,
who owns the prettiest eyes.

see this is life,
and it's not very nice.

we're all born.
but why?
there's only one reason,
and that is,
we're,
born to die.

This life of dampened poetry's
atrocious, slowly killing me;
a poison, psychologically.
I see my life as preciously
as any schoolboy prodigy.
Alas, the eyes of poetry
see beauty oh so dismally,
and absent from my memory
is all the joy that's come to me;
the blackened soul I've come to be
is drowning in insanity.
So in this life, my only plea's
please spare me from my vanity.

I've never felt the melancholy of being broken hearted
I've never cried because things ended before they started
I've never had my heart shattered by a **** I once loved
I've never been preciously owned then suddenly shoved
I've never regretted wasting time for someone not worth it
I'm still a finished puzzle, never been incomplete
Feeling fortunate and desiring both at heart's beat
Craving to call someone mine and feel revocable by love
It's typical to be jealous of others ambiences
Especially if behind every sorrow is happiness
But love is an obstacle and with every obstacle is a reward
The strength to keep going and ambitiously move forward
So am I lucky, is this just a phase?
*Or is love something I've been missing out on?

haven't penned much of anything
the last few days,
my favorite pen went on strike
demanding more hours..
holding back every speck of
preciously needed ink.
or maybe it just ran dry,
and I need a newer one to do the job.
oh my
Is that ageist ?
I didn't mean anything by it..
oh look I guess this ones working again,
must not of cared for the bias.

Bile in my throat
at the thought of you with another set of hands,
another pair of lips,
Deserved acid rising.
Face like tar baby, maybelline smeared
a black film to each eye.

Scald my case of a body with shower spray,
I remember when your torso pressed against mine
as water spilled down our misshapen noses.
I forget what your lower lip feels like
to be pressed between mine.
Forget what sound stumbled out when teeth left marks
when crescent moons kissed your clavicle
and freckles became a map of my sky.

We never kissed behind any vending machines,
but every moment felt preciously stolen nonetheless.
Too perfect to be ours for long,
we desperately traded in bits of our adolescent hearts
in the lottery of fools.
Doled out vulnerability
in the hopes that
maybe the happiness
would stay
just
a bit
longer.

when i was five,
my grandparents,
owned a flower farm.

i know everything there is to know about flowers,
about how to strip every single leaf off without damaging the stem,
to how preciously you have to pack orchids so there heads don't fall off
and how long a daffodil can survive without water.

what i don't know is how to make someone fall in love with you,
and how to stop yourself from going crazy,
and how long a human can last, depressed.

last sunday when we met.

you stole my heart without realising, i think.
but in the end, you knew,
and you took advantage of this,
by ripping it to shreds.

i hope your futures good,
and you have not one, but many kids,
to anyone you please,

the sad thing is,
i know im my heart,
no one will ever be as good for you,
as me.

Welling up inside of me
Like the guilt from things undone
Lies the horrid emotions
We don't deal to feel
For each other

Deny, deny, deny
The word has become the playlist
Of our lives
Bobbing in our heads
Wherever we go

Keep your thoughts hidden
Like the treasure of your skin
So preciously unique
Unlike any other I've heard
Rough like the tide washing me away

My heart no longer speeds
Up at your sight
My head no longer dizzies
As you speak your careful words
I've learned to burry it all in a well

Deep, deep in a well
Somewhere in my chest,
In my thoughts
Where you can't retrieve it

Deny, deny, deny

Dancing in the wind, breathing in the spicy and musky cologne, your chest against my breast, bursting into ecstasy, strong hands cupping my face, slowly drawing your lips close to mine and kissing slowly, then  developing  speed, like a trial riff of guitar, short sparks; crackling in to lightening later.

Laughing at the lead singer, who is high, he introduced himself as Mr. Alien, and at nothing at all, pure bliss has finally made a pact with our souls. Lift me up, so I can see them singing gloriously, performing more fitting, bass thumping, electric jolts across my body, fingers electrified, heart stupefied, held, suspended in the perfect beat, captured in that elated moment.

KISS ME, kiss me now ,here comes the perfect line, the stanza inscribed on my lips like you name, sung countless times in the mustang on the way to Ireland, in the candy shop while gulping down all the pumpkin lattes we can consume. You were born a day after Halloween, crooked lights, gleaming against the backdrop-the moonless night, neon signs flashing across the barren land, filling up with iridescent rays, jumping, like the drumbeats seeping through our veins.

Like the sound of that pink Floyd song, you belted out, at karaoke bar last night, lyrics exploding out of your lungs, tearing apart my heart at 3 am:”You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.
I'll give you anything, everything if you want things”: Sky colored red velvet, with stars like sequins hanging from miles above, Polaroid perfect.

Your heart pumping rapidly, against mine, bringing me back from the trance, your lips mould against mine, tongues swimming across the shorelines of my molars, arms tucked around my waist, lowering, caressing my hips.

Notes of piano, gliding through, an intro to another song. I promise, you’ll be the only song, I know word to word. All the beats and spaces in between etched on my heart. Your lips, the desired stanza, taste like cinnamon and pine, reminding of my childhood, a memory of us on the slide, giggling, holding pine cones preciously like Davy Jones locker, our first treasure.

It’s been years, but our love has grown, blossomed in into an everlasting flower never fading but always steady and strong like the chorus of a rock ballad, an intense melody like our promises lighting up the lyrics and us.

Remember when we’d slowly grow up sitting on those steps?
Your mother used to come out with cold lemonade on those hot days
And you’d pass me a slice of watermelon.
I’d smile that stupid grin of mine
Complete with missing front teeth.
God those days were so hot.
Sometimes as if answering a child’s whimper
The Rain would just start pouring
And I’d be too proud to dance like an idiot.
But not you.
You’d splash with the gusto and laughter
Of nostalgia in the smile of a photograph.
You would call me over to join you in the puddles
But I’d shake my head.
I don’t want to get wet I’d scoff
And my cheeks would turn strawberry.
Your look of disappointment would turn to a playful smirk
And I would swallow my embarrassment.
You never meant me any harm.
My face glowed crimson and embarrassment turned to shame.

The air started to get cool
And the leaves on the trees became lazy.
We’d collect them.
They were nothing short of arboreal rubies.
The yellow oaks always caught your eye.
They were my favourite too.
My dad yells down the street
In a voice gruff like his bristly chin.
He was outwardly rough
But in truth he was a very sweet man.
Though you wouldn’t know it from my bruises.
I always thought he did it because he missed mom.
She was put in a box in the dirt a week after I was born
So I never knew how her voice sounded when she sang in her studio
Painting the yellow leaves we preciously held.

Halloween would come and we would run with the others from the neighbourhood.
Our faces painted like eggshells.
And we’d dance those secret incantations that only we knew
Passed down from generation to generation from our brothers and sisters.
As we’d go door to door on our quest for sugar
We would always fall behind from the rest.
You would grab my hand with a hearty
-Come on!
When we finally found our fellow ne’er-do-wells
You smiled at me though you were out of breath.
Even though it was dark out
I could still tell your eyes were brown.

Our first dance was in high school.
And just like you
You jumped the gun
And asked me if I would take you.
When I opened my mouth I swear I vomited butterflies.
I was so nervous the entire day preparing.
The process of looking presentable became unbearable.
I pulled up to your house only five houses from my own
(It was unthinkable to make you walk to my car)
When your mother came out
Which couldn’t be a good sign.

Why do we look down and pity
Those who are content in their
Nothingness and suffering

Is it really right and righteous
For us to want them to have more?
It is both impossible and implausible
For us all to have more.

For those who had nothing
Everything is gained
For those who have everything
Fear of losing is more constant

When I was a child
I read that story of a man
Who used to be happy with
His limited share of goods
Then, he found a gold nugget
And the poison spread through
His mind
Till he was viciously suspicious
Of old friends
And remained sleepless
Fearing the loss of
His fortune
How unfortunate that
When he gained the most
He lost it all
Lost his soul

Those of us with so much
Are gluttons with ever
Increasing appetite
We are constantly trying to
Fill the emptiness in our
Soul with a fleeting
Satisfaction and
The joy of a newly acquired
Good

The happiness last for
Shorter and shorter
Periods of time
And then we are left
With the void

When we protest this
We are met with
“You are ungrateful”
“You are so blessed”
Are we really blessed?
When we gained everything
We lost our soul, our happiness,
Our upward gazes facing the sun,
And are now facing the field of ennui,
Or even, the dust of unspeakable shame,
For it seems we also lost the right to suffer.

When we are young,
Likes candies to a toddler
We crave for the sweetness of being
When you grow old
Likes the bitterness of tea
We immerse in the more tattered memories.

In Peter Jackson’s
“They Shall Not Grow Old”
Such horror was described
By the soldiers and veterans
That survived
You’d think they would block out
Their memories entirely
Yet, it ended with such a profound
Declaration
That
If they had a second chance
They would do it all over again

Same with my grandmother,
When you ask her what was
The best times in her life
It will always be the times
She fought the most
And was hurt the most

And my mother’s generation
Was subjected to much hunger
Yet, she is more regretful about
The blandness
Of life and fulfillment now
With so many of her and my
Peers trying to actively
Seriously, and dangerously
Starve themselves
Just to feel pretty

How the rice and fruits
Tasted so preciously
How my grandmother
Had tried to relive her
Less materialistic life
From her childhood in me
How I searched and searched
For those imperfect berries
That always tasted sourer
Than sweet

Such is the Fullness of Being!
Yet,
We are now blessed
With the Emptiness
Of Everything

I often feel so guilty
Being someone with so much
That I could leisurely
Just write poetry
While others try to give more and
More to those with
Nothing

Yet,
I see them much much
Happier than our materialistic
Society
We think are more blessed
We think we are in a better place
But are we?
While they are able to find
Happiness and fulfillment
In hunger and suffering
We are lost among
Our everything.

Do they need more, or
Do we need to learn to
Live with less, much less?

I can’t help fill hungry bodies
But can I give myself to comfort
Souls that are suffering in
The Blandness of being
And abandoned for
Having everything.

I saw you
And look at you so preciously
Your my gem
My treasure
My infinity
But look at you now
You're in the middle of nowhere
Almost to nothingness
Lifeless
Emotionless
Have that man hurt you so much
That he turned your heart into ash..

It has always been me and you and the tide,
All my thoughts and truths to hide;

tugged between the line that divides,
the sad still and the forever mad;

This moment I decide,
weather to be the wave or the sand;

As the vast sky sang its sleeping lullabies,
I woke up with million hanging eyes;

I watched them beckon me to their foreign land
So I left thorny black roses behind,
their dark secrets poisonous to my gentle heart;

I once exposed my hells and heavens,
the one I shared with my only treasure;

I exposed them to various unsuitable figures,
and never had I felt more unsettled,

And so I swore,
to vigorously guard what I preciously bore,
and only reveal it to my other soul;

So, dear pure soul,
sing for me,
cry for me,
laugh for me,
dance for me,
rage for me,
and pull me to your white world;

Rain down on me, your sparkling white roses,
let me swim between its endless soft petals,
intoxicate me with the scent of it all,
spin me around until I become whole under its cover;

And I shall eternally remain, regardless of sand or wave,  
a single black rose, in the field of all your white roses

Red streaks the latest paper
The blood of martyrs splattered on walls
For their faith.
For the whole world to see.

Red blotches a Gentile face
He wakes up to see Jesus
Coming with healing bright
Shingles, white patches
hideous bumps, flaky scabs.
They vanish at His faintest whisper.

He runs into Samaritan darkness
Screaming, Your name reverberating.
Red is what they ate in Eden, too.
Red is being torn from Your side
By smooth connivance with
Reptilian deceit.

Red is how the world looks
To lovely young eyes
Enamored by it for the first time.
Red is their world
And You turn pale
In their sight.

Red is what I feel
When I learn
Your anointing on my throat
lies–almost forgotten
Preciously hidden
Tucked behind the veneer
Of daily pinings for applause
From dim, glassy faces
Made red by stage lighting.

Red is the color of my cheeks
When I realize
You love me despite.

Red is Your sacrifice.
Red is Your atonement.
Red is my ransom.

…You are everywhere.

I cant help but still
love you with all my will
so come here and stay
I say this is a dream
no its not its reality

I will be reliving this moment
for the rest of my life
with you sometimes me might,
we might fight and be mad at each other
but we'll still like one another

I cant help but say and be
loving cause cupid got me
he got me with the first glance at you
the arrow i didnt need it to love you
but lets be together cause cupid got me

Lets stick on one log in the river
we stop to stay to float in the river
away our love is together saved

were the team that comes alive
we can kiss and survive
she is dumb for giving you up
thats not me i feel cupped
and pressured to love and I do

I keep gettin nervous
oh no sweatin
your my light
you knock out my fright

You are there
holding me when I'm scared
I'm not just liking
but I'm loving
is rarely done
I hold you preciously
caus guess what cupid got me!

Forty years ago
She wrote me a note
Insubstantial
But ending preciously…

‘only yours’

In fountain ink
On a scrap paper
Written surreptitiously
But passionately
On a break period
Delivered through a common friend
And there wasn’t enough privacy
So it seemed
To read it alone
And not enough strength
To unfold that first call
Till the eyes
In youth’s first thirst
Spread it
In the stolen reflection
Of streetlight
In trembling hands
Barest words
Yet infinitely precious…

‘only yours’

She couldn’t be
For she was
Destined to be someone else’s
And leave me nothing
But her everything
In those two words
Time couldn’t stale…

‘only yours’

She
Possibly now a grandma
With everything
For she left me nothing
But two innocuous words
Barest infinite
Her everything
Mine too…

‘only yours’.

A half completed hotel comes down around

a hollow bastion of silence and peace.



How rare silence is; how preciously finite

like all the good things.

Like wine and cherries and orchids

and any combination of the three.



My father and I used to climb mountains

to experience a silent so absolute that

you had to hold your breath

because it was making too much noise.

A silence so complete that

you can hear the trees grow.



But the hotel is crashing down

around my ears so clamorous and horrid

leaving me alone freezing in the cold

rubble and ruins surrounding me listening

to the cars pass by on the interstate.



How quickly stained glass breaks.

I feel useless.
I feel trapped in a preciously dangerous box
but it seems that no one wants me out
Only restrained
By the fickle hope that maybe someday I will be normal.

Like other girls.

I want to be the smartest girl  
or maybe the prettiest girl for once?

l want to be the one that stands out
I desire your recognition of my accomplishments,
which aren't too many and much to be proud of.

I want to be someone's something
That maybe leaves them awestruck
And I can't help thinking that
maybe
I am it,
but how useless would that be,
to assume I am everyone's something?

I take a trip back to the past
All the while, seconds fly fast
Reversing nature's clock of causality
History distorts to become my reality

Nightmares of darkness cloud my wake
I rise and run for my life's sake
Anguish claws me with devilish ******
Life eluding me, my timeline loses ticks

But stepping though this terrible fate
The clock rewinds again at an incredible rate

Entering a new dream, I walk as I will
In this heavenly home, so preciously still
And in the distance, I see you and run  
Towards you, I go to your glistening sun

Met with curious lights, I wince my eyes
And open them again to a resplendent prize
A picture of the past, the dear angel I miss
It overwhelms me with deluging bliss

I see you, you whom I have loved so
I've lost so much, why did you have to go?

An embrace is placed upon my soul
Laying to rest the price of my toll
With tender strokes, you weave my peace
My troubles are lost to time and cease

With gentle steps, you fade into the white
You tell me let go and I obey without a fight
I smile, taken home to the present where I belong
With a priceless silence where nothing is wrong

The memories pass and lavish my heart
A beautiful finale before my new start

Everything is okay for I can happily smile
Years can pass and they'll no longer be vile
The past that's plagued me is my future no more
My life is no longer lived with this timeworn war

Entering forgotten sacred grove.
Before all; make sacrifice.
Waterskin filled with tears.
Empty gift into stream.
Become one; adjacent of Mother.
Kiss a leaf; covert fiber to ash.
Watch soot animate into air.

Luckily, favour is bestowed.
Invigorated, gaining great perception.
Seeing each foot step illuminate.
Prints of fiend and foe.
Auras of silver; some of gold.
Pulsing, accompanying each beating heart.
Lurk further, if not weak of mind.

Footing becomes treacherous.
Heels; weakened of frailty.
Parka too heavy.
Shedding skin, turning hope.
Colors looming; fading in, some out.
Fatiguing, yet desperate.

Swimming up, deprived oxygen.
Vines trip, knotted at ankles.
Trailing honey, scented guide.
Climbing higher, vision enduring infection.
Picking, chewing, freeing the whole apparatus.
Light reflects from above.

Tainted, the hand sinks down.
Grasping, something of power.
Sensations overflow.
Reality checks within.
Preciously ending.
White hands, angelically caress.
Bleeding no more.

Mending all wounds.
Awakening the fire.
Around pit, peers cheering.
Rite of passage endured.
One with nature, little child.
Flesh, bone, soot, ash, fiber.
Boy evolves to man.
Wonderous joy.

Oh dare be the happy girl
Go soar the world with glee
And never fear the things they say
For rich in life you’ll be

And don’t you know the happy girl
Is prettiest by far?
***’ all her imperfections
Are just kisses from a star

The happy girl will never age
Those sunspots on her cheeks
Are badges from the mountain tops
And hot Havana weeks

You’ll love to be the happy girl
The stories of a muse
Are preciously adorning her
In form of scars and bruise

When you become the happy girl
You’ll love yourself so well
That everyone will love you too
Because it’s clear to tell

The happy girl knows how to play
Might find her in a tree
Or beaches combed for shells and teeth
or dancing near the sea

I challenge you, the happy girl
Although I never could
I hope you’ll sail much farther than
The sad girl ever would