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you, a garden.your flesh like smooth-lilies,
eyes like cosmic-daffodils.
there is the garden of your soul,
which i have often wandered-
plucking at petals and
blissfully unaware that beauty lives
only when observed through gentle eyes,
and withers at the slightest touch of
this is not fucking.with her-
i am confused,
my soul full of light-black contrasts
forms with no line
heavy value with no colour
deep strokes in graphite, charcoal
the blackest-whites and whitest-blacks
a thousand grays
warm through cool, but never
crossing the spectrum into reality
subconscious murmurs, whispers
thick moans dripping with lust
this is my body and my mind
rough outlines of thoughts
and your hands so soft
against the mountains of my spine
i feel your warmth,
your lasting heat
your fingernails so gentle against my shoulder-blades
making 3d planes on my framework
i move with you in my soul
“and the holy dove was moving too”
this is not fucking
this is making love in the spiritual sense
i am wrapping my arms around your eyelids
clutching at your desires
breathing out your next breath
inhaling your carbon dioxide,
this is nirvana
we are together now
not fucking, no
this is not just the union of two bodies
this is the ov
i am conflicted.and i am lost in a reality of
“maybe” spoken by head, and
“yes” spoken by heart.
i am but orchids pushing through the sidewalk cracks-
or the cause of an untimely change in direction.
i am the gasping of lovers ripe with lust,
and smoke ring o’s of those stuck in til’ death do they part.
i am ill,
ripped in opposite directions;
i am a living paradox.
how is it that friendship turned into false love?
“no” unhesitatingly spoken and
so quickly withdrawn, agony in each “i’m sorry.”
in my desire for the anecdote to my loneliness,
i paved a road of inevitable collapse.
what is it that i thought could come of this,
what did i so foolishly submit myself to?
why do i always follow my head instead of my heart?
i am done fitting myself into this sharp-edged box of my own creation,
done with my self-inflicted unhappiness,
done with overthinking the simplest things.
i am following my half-soul,
my bruised insides s
the city song.it burns it’s harsh breath through my lungs. bitter grinds of tobacco and old coffee sting my throat- their taste spreading to my fingertips and tingling violently; i have seen wolves and dark shadows in the corners of my eyes but screams are now tormenting my subconscious. when i listen to the music of the winds in cities black with pollution i can hear women pleading for mercy and cruel laughs of evil men. they deliver images of rape and abuse through my dreams.
when will the world show the angry creatures lurking under porches and young children’s beds? they hide but move swiftly and their reign is becoming apparent.
i can see people walking with their clothing strewn low and their hats turned backwards; their breath is of highs and lows and all that creeps in between the lines. self-discovery is self-mutilation and it difficult for most to come to terms with their true vile nature.
a gunshot rings in the night- it is not just a sound but an implication of death and fear
The Lost PrinceThis is about Louis-Charles,
hear his story through
it took up his entire life,
but is only a minute to you.
He was young and he was kind,
his nature innocent.
He took not one person's life,
but now he lies discontent.
He was taken from his mother
when red, white and blue;
had taken people's minds and burned through.
He and his parents were secluded,
in a room built for two.
He screamed for his governess,
and she could only save little Lou.
His mother's hair is spread
over the base of a guillotine,
his father soon will follow
with fear barely seen.
Little Louis is all alone now,
taken away from his governess-
and all she can do is sadly vow
to never let them surround him in darkness.
She quickly bounds up the roof,
her feet wrapped in gauze.
The guards have not yet found any proof
for the firework's cause.
She's bringing you light little Louis,
she'll never abandon her post
because you asked for beauty,
and you're the one for which she cares the most.
a pathetic poem for you.
your hair is black as night
and though you have no wings,
you always seem to take flight.
your pores are dripping with light,
i soak in all of these things
(i scream in delight).
and unlike you she was dark,
her passion low- she brings
memories of pain and of leaving marks.
she was like a shark,
you like spring
you brought me out of those cries and barks.
you taught me how to sing.
it feels like strings are cutting off my circulation- jerky movements that don't cease (i'm side to side up to down thrown towards the sky).
i'm a puppet to my addictions.
your raw-edge-hands are tracing the outline of my frock dress. old-skin rough-callouses unwanted hands. i remember them and i think of glass and ash. your hair was red and so was your bed, that i knew so very well. i remember your contrast-form on the sheets. you were dreaming but you were dead- drunk and passed out. i wept. my age was young, at only one when you gave me love for grown-ups and prom and under the starlight with candles.
i guess i'll stop trying to make it sound beautiful. there is nothing to bring light to. this darkness brought no light.
sometimes my words aren't pretty- sometimes they aren't sweet. (right now they're filled with pain and loss and defeat.)
i see you sometimes in the shadows and under the moon. the wind is running its hands through your hair. you look tired. (go to sleep daddy, please go to sleep now.)
it's hard to remember when all you want to do is forget. (when your dreams are filled with only love and regret.)
stop it daddy, it hurts.
Chronicle of a Past WinterThere has been only a few moments in my life where I have truly felt alive. The following bit of writing is a small chronicle detailing one of those events:
Four years ago this December, I was a very different person than the person who sits here writing this today. I was 16 and a junior at a local high school. I was skinny as a twig after lots of weight in during the previous year.
The year had been up and down. I had fallen in and out of love with a girl who was more confusing than a rubik's cube. A month after our break up, I lost my grandpa. He had always been an inspiration to me and he had always shown me how powerful knowledge really can be. I want to be the kind of man he was and I will never forget the impact he had on my life. Somehow in all of it I managed to stay sane and grind my way through day-by-day and month-by-month.
The first four months of school flew by fast. My Chinese improved rapidly as I took up as a teacher's assistant with my Chinese teacher. I was att
Singer and PlayerGuitar Playing
" Baby I'm going to leave you"
Maybe I don't understand subtle.
But I sang your tunes
Listened to your blues.
Sometimes, making music
was the only way I could talk to you
the ache in my heart was so loud
that I thought you had plucked it out,
and played with my veins
the most beautiful melody
but would never let me hear it
I wonder constantly
What am I supposed to do?
But I still sang
like a little caged bird
trapped in the hollow of your guitar.
Sun and MoonSome days I can't sleep
Smell your cologne in my sleep
Remember my childish squealing
Remember that now I'm still healing
From the cigarette burns,
that you left on my heart,
From the pills that were left in me
Poison from the start.
Do you remember,
the first time we met?
Eyes across the hallway
and the beating of my heart
Just like your guitar
and the squealing of the
children around you.
Oh the irony
Maybe I'll tell you one day.
But did you count
every day that went by?
because I know that I counted
every sleepless night
When I wondered where you'd gone
and if you were alright.
And the what if's that drove me crazy
and your motives that were unknown.
I swear I'm coming to California,
as soon as I get home.
If we'll still be able to get along.
Even if the time difference
is so wrong.
Can we still get tattooed?
If I don't speak to you.
If I can't trust you.
And the future
is so bright
Like the way I
Togliere il disturboNon fu straordinaria, speciale;
fu una storia come tante altre,
eppure merita d'esser scritta,
e stavolta almeno non per gli occhi di tutti.
Si vide e pensò che era ora di avere di più; subito rifletté e concluse che quel "di più" così vago aveva poco senso ma il solo averlo pensato le fece assaggiare la disperazione di ciò che non aveva e dentro di lei creava continue assenze che, seppur invisibili a chi le stava intorno, non lasciavano mai del tutto il suo sguardo che spesso puntava al nulla che le sembrava sempre troppo lontano.
Nel giro di pochi mesi, le sue condizioni divennero però manifeste e non poté nasconderle; la sua capacità di dissimulare divenne così flebile, tanto quanto la sua forza di inghiottire l'aria; si sentiva soffocare; letteralmente.
Preoccupati, più per educazione che per affetto, chi le stava accanto si prodigò affinché fosse curata; chi la visitò disse che in lei
Price 3 i 4PRIČA BROJ 3 – TRI DANA KADA SE U ZAGREBU OSKUPILO PREKO 14 TISUĆA OSOBA NA JEDNOM VAŽNOM SKUPU
Moja obitelj i ja smo Jehovini svjedoci. Svim Jehovinim svjedocima su važni veliki skupovi koji se održavaju tri puta godišnje. Jedan od njih se održava u ljetnim mjesecima i traje tri dana. Taj skup zovemo regionalni kongres Jehovnih svjedoka (do prije nekog vremena se zvao oblasni kongres Jehovinih svjedoka). Na njemu prisustvuju Jehovini svjedoci iz jedne države ili jednog dijela neke države. Ponekad se regionalni kongresi organiziraju tako da su na njih pozvani i delegati iz drugih zemalja te se isti govori iznose na jezicima delegata koji su pozvani da prisustvuju tom skupu. To su međunarodni kongresi Jehovinih svjedoka. U Zagrebu se redovito, svake godine, održavaju regionalni kongresi i na njima prisustvuje oko četiri tisuće osoba. Također, u Zagrebu se održao i jedan međunarodni kongres, a na
The Day of Dread 7/20/2014I've had some bad days. I think we all have. But never, have I ever, had a day as bad as 7/20/2014. Let's start with the interesting events of the night before!
I went to the bar with my dear friend Charlie, and we sang some karaoke and drank some drinks. Was an interesting night.. Had a drunk guy come up behind me, kiss the back of my head, grope the bartender and get 86'd. A bit later, outside with my buddy and I'm making the predator noise. This chick starts getting in my face, telling me "you're done. Go home. Get the fuck gone." I find this humorous as she is trying to be threatening and can't even hold herself up. A man that works at the bar told her to back up, and to stop being a bitch. Ends at that? Nope. After closing my tab and going out to my truck to leave (TACOS AHOY!) the girl that was in my face and her cousin start screaming at a car load of people for no reason. Charlie is already on his way out, but I stick around to make sure the two bartenders, who are really frail
In Lieu of Saying GoodbyeWhen you’re full you must become empty
When you’re empty you must become full
Without either of those things, you will not have the other
And to appreciate being full, you must know how it is to be empty
And that , in the end, both are temporary states.
And neither will last
Love is both being empty and being full.
It is flying so high, and still being able to touch the ground
It is fighting and making up.
It is being the best of friends, even though it’s only been a few months.
It is holding hands and skipping
It is sharing music
It is comforting each other when it’s all going to hell.
It is the little promises that are made and that can’t be kept.
It is the big promises that are made and fulfilled
It is the experiences you have, the places you go, the books you read, the things you watch and the music you listen to,
But most of all, it is the people you cherish and hold in your heart, even when they’re gone
Love is being empty and being full.
My Swimming StoryThis is a piece of my life that I’ve been keeping locked away for a long time. I don’t really like to open up about personal stories, but for the sake of people I hold dear, I wished to share it.
I hope you can glean something from it; whether that be inspiration, understanding, comfort, or anything you might need most internally in your life right now.
This is my Swimming Story.
I had been a competitive swimmer since age 5 (though I really started swimming when I was 4. I have one of those awesome moms that signs her kid up for everything in town; dance, soccer, drawing, sculpting, crafts, piano, violin, cello, track, debate, horseback riding heck even foreign policy for toddlers… I did just about everything our little town had to offer, but that’s a different story).
Swimming came pretty natural for me. I always loved the water, even at the end of spring and start of fall; I was the first one in
SchoolThis arrangement worked pretty well until it was time for us to go to school. Since I did not like clothes at all, my mother was worried about me trying to strip while in class. I guess she got lucky, because apparently she explained to me that I had to wear clothes when in school, and I accepted this.
It was around this time that my nakedness stopped being just nakedness and became true cfnm. At least that is how I think about it in my mind.
The first couple of months that we were in school, I would come home and actually keep wearing my clothes until it was time for my bath and bed. I still slept naked, as my mom could not get me to wear pajamas, but I was dressed at any other time.
My mom ended up getting a new job, and my sister and I had to start spending the first few hours after school staying with my aunt and cousins. The first day we were there we walked in we took off our shoes at the door (as my aunt didn't let anybody wear shoes on her carpets) I started to walk towards the
an honest letter.
if i only had one minute left to live i would cry because you weren't here with me.
although, maybe i would just remember you and hope you had the best life possible. you deserve it, you know. you always try to boost my self-esteem, but you don't love yourself nearly as much as i think you should. i don't know, i just think you deserve to be happy- so fucking happy that it isn't even funny. what can i do that will make you content? even the most random thing, i'll do it.
you help me much more than you could imagine. even though i smoke and burn and cut and cry i always get through it, but if i didn't have you i might not be so lucky.
so, i guess what i'm trying to say is thank you for making my life worth living.
Keep in Touch!