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GfS May 2015
I'm sorry if things would come out so wrong
It's just that I've loved you for oh so very long
I don't know how I should interact
Or how I should come to react
I'd stutter like I'm a big dork
I make worse conversations than that of a fork
But it's because I'm just charmed by your smile
I guess it's my way to stay with you for a while
I keep my distance, not because I want a good bye
But it's just that.. Well.. I'm way to shy
I get all shaky when our shoulders would touch
It's probably because I've longed for that so much
You must know what you do to me when our hands would simply touch
If happiness were a grading system, I'd be at the top notch

So please don't be weirded out by how I am
I'm trying to be normal with the best that I can
I'm awkward, shy but oh so very kind
and *you're the only girl who's in my mind
I like rhyming
Name of Teacher:*___________________________________________
Teacher/Course Evaluation: Fall Semester, Humanities Block (History & English) Hopi High School, Keams Canyon, Arizona, Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA).

_______________ (1) This course was: (A) always different; never boring; sometimes even enjoyable (B) like a sleeping pill, an experience similar to having narcolepsy (C) like being sentenced to a maximum-security penitentiary for a semester; what did I do in a previous incarnation that stored up so much bad karma for me to deserve being here?   (D) a semester living under a totalitarian regime; this teacher would have fit right in with ******’s “Gestapo” (E) what I imagine it would have been like at Herot, Hrothgar’s royal mead hall in Beowulf, whenever the monster Grendel came calling.

_______________ (2) This teacher:  (A) knows how to teach, knows a great deal about this subject and others, creates a classroom atmosphere that resonates with teenagers and truly cares whether I show up ready to learn (B) never remembers my name, let alone my birthday (C) actually hates me and has made several attempts on my life (D) should have his license to teach revoked; can wiring my desk for electric shocks be legal?
(E) often wanders off, leaving us alone in the classroom for as long as 30 minutes at a time while out in the parking lot screaming about aliens and/or Bolsheviks.

_______________ (3) Compared to all other teachers I’ve had since kindergarten, this teacher: (A) is one of the best, certainly in the top 10% (B) has the worst personal hygiene; aren’t teachers required to bathe at least once a month? (C) has the least credibility; he tells me nothing but “lies, ****** lies and statistics” (D) frightens me the most, particularly whenever the moon waxes full (E) is obviously the one most in need of a good 12-step recovery program.

_______________ (4) This teacher’s grading system:   (A) is objective and reflects what I earn; not subjectively based on whether he likes my face or not (B) is based on a point system that is clearly explained and fairly administered (C) is based on assignments that are challenging but not impossibly difficult (D) includes opportunities to earn at least some extra credit (E) A, B, C & D (F) none of these; sometimes I think he pulls my grade out of his ***.

_____________
(5) If I could change one thing about this teacher or his class, I'd: (A) change nothing: this teacher belongs in Sir Thomas More’s Utopia (B) insist that he use English in the classroom, not that "clicks and pops" sound-effect language he learned while backpacking in sub-Saharan Africa one summer (C) tear down that rice-paper-thin, cardboard wall separating his classroom from the one next door (D) demand that an FBI Trained and Certified Document Examiner review his BIA job application, teaching credential, college transcripts and fingerprint card (E) remove sheep and goats*.
Aly the Pear Nov 2014
Depression
Enveloping darkness swallowing wholly
Confused family hurting daily
Unhappy memories haunting mercilessly
Concerned friends worrying quietly
Prospective future slipping quickly
Oblivious teachers grading harshly
Low self-esteem dropping endlessly
Understanding lover comforting gently
Frigid emptiness bellowing angrily
Lively peers ignoring unintentionally
Selfish
A "classonian" on depression
Don Bouchard Oct 2018
Same old drudgery,
Papers fresh for grading;
Topics, seldom new,
If honestly presented,
At least encourage worth
In form, in format, in tradition.

Plagiarism creeps up,
Always shocking,
The unauthorized changing
Of voice, of tone, of diction,
Not unlike the sting of a ruthless needle,
The drip of a hollowed, poisoned fang,
The bite of frost, burning a tender cheek...
Sadly familiar, this strident pang.

All hope is lost.

Anger sets in,
Trust wilts,
Hope fades gray.

In plagiarism, the fool's truth lies;
To belie one's honor is to watch it die.
Proverbs 1:17 Surely in vain the nets are cast under the watching eyes of the birds...
Geno Cattouse Sep 2012
The old man said to me "son, timing is key"
I said, "old dude you look like a man who heard about rythym".
Old felines  like you come a dime  for a dozen, always poppin of yang about isms and schisms .

Naw fresh meat. This buds for you, If I really knew then what I thought that I knew
I wouldn't be grading your papers with exes and checks but I see in your eyes that your vision is short.
You think you hot **** but aint all that smart.

FYI pops I think that you reading me wrong.
You cant see my dimensions nor fade my intentions.

So you think they broke the mold. you have this thing down cold.
This has never been done before you.
Here ,wipe your nose.

Hey Senor senior if your so informed,then please pass along a few high value pearls.
How bout the one telling about what women want cause you really cleaned up in
the female department .

The old man just smiled and said "pearls before swine.
Just drop a few breadcrumbs to find your way back".

Off is the direction I want you to truck he said.
Don't  forget Wonder is the best kind of bread he said
You must be slow or just light in the head he said.

Yeah, whatever.
My father was a philosopher, or liked to pretend as much.
He couldn’t look at the world for what it was, but rather what it represented.
“This tree isn’t just a tree,” he’d say,
“It’s a symbol of the wisdom of man,
growing until it’s cut away, stripped, and used for God knows what purposes.”
To me, it was just a wooden friend made for climbing.

There was a frozen lake near us he often gazed over while driving to the 7-11 for cigs.
He said it was a perfect image of impermanence:
a beautiful crystal sea with solid skin, soon to melt, and become a bathtub to wash the local compost clean.

My brother and I go sledding on our snow days.
If you don’t, well, it might as well be a weekend,
or a grading day,
or Flag Day.

We’d slide across that glassy plain on our bellies,
our hearts beating through the ice;
music for the fishes below.
It was in those days that I thought of my life as perfect,
and I realized all the possibilities that the fire of my youth could fuel.
Well, one day our hearts beat too fast,
or too strong,
or the fish wished to meet the musicians, or something happened for reasons which I still can’t come to terms with.
The glass… it shattered.
And my brother fell through the other side,
to dance with the herrings and sturgeons till he was all out of breath.
And he tired quickly of the dance.
And I wasn’t a strong enough partner to lead him off the dancefloor.

My father, when he heard the news of his son’s new hobby,
it was as though every book he ever read,
and every four-syllable word he ever knew,
and every overdrawn metaphor he ever spoke were all just a weird series of lies.
He swam into his bedroom, and through a blizzard of thrown pictures, sobs, and “*****” he calmed himself to stupor.


He went in the room my father, the intellectual, and came out as Roy, the sorrow-drunken spatter of roadside slush.
Whenever we pass the lake, he no longer comments on what it represents, but rather what it is:
“a ******-up graveyard for innocent little angels.”  
The world is no longer a set of symbols, but a tangible environment,  
though one he looks at through a lens of tears and amber bloodshots.  
My father is no longer a philosopher, but a poet, spitting out sonnets of regret and rage.  

And as for me, I haven’t really much to talk about.
I guess I’m sitting stagnant, frozen.  
I don’t want to be like my father, but I’m realizing it’s inevitable.
I haven’t felt anything genuine since his heart beat its last song.
Hell, I don’t even sled on snow days anymore.  
They might as well be a weekend,
or a grading day,
or Flag Day.
© David Clifford Turner, 2010

For more scrawls, head to: www.ramblingbastard.blogspot.com
James Rives Sep 2023
what is the benchmark or minimum
for telling someone, "i love you,"?
how many i miss yous
and i wish you were heres are enough,
even minutes after parting?

whatever the number is, **** it.
because my heart remembers to beat
and even attempts to soar with you
to heights new, unfound, unseen.

where the chittering of nearby birds
is both foreign and kind comfort
in our hands;
where oranges and strawberries grow
in tandem, vine over vine, root over root,
and fall into us, sweet and kind and lovely.

if i were to say it too soon, i'm afraid
i'd lose you, your wit, your smile,
dumb jokes and blazing blue eyes.
and by withholding, i risk combustion,
and an end to it all the same.

i love you.
I have never felt a love like this. It's unique and pure but I worry that I'm stupid and easily tricked.
Andrew Rueter Jun 2018
My face blue
I race through
A misplaced zoo
Where disgrace grew
Into a mistake stew
Like the River Styx
Where people mix
Into a wall of bricks
That makes me sick

They steal my serenity
But when I look ahead of me
I see that I'll need them
To experience freedom
So I amass suitors
But I don't see them as sons or daughters
I see them as polluters
I see them as pirates and marauders

They see love as a doorway
To their own complacency
In order to see me more days
They take away my agency
Instead of aiding me
They start grading me
No longer elating me
They start deflating me

I shoot a missile
Of dismissal
Into the barricade
Of the bed I made
And keep sailing on
By flailing on
The floor
Begging for more

More people
More walls
Another sequel
Another fall
I have erected a maze
Where I've elected to graze
Deflecting their gaze
To enjoy wandering days

I experience happiness
Without their craftiness
But I begin to get lonely
My mouth starts foaming
I search to find ramparts
That can't part
Where landsharks
Eat the parked

Stuck searching
Perpetually perching
On the ledge
Of the wedge
Between myself and others
Looking for cover
I built protective walls
That became too tall
Morgan Milligan Jun 2012
Once upon a time,
I dare asked for preference on
Characters of fantasy.
I took a tally poll without mere thought
But then the deeply stored epiphany came later.
For if we are judging creatures of imagination then we must
Be grading stereotypes.
We gave each only a few characteristics
And in turn labeled our minds restrictive.
In the world of zombies and unicorns we can create anything we want.
In the realm of fantasy,
Everything and anything exist.
The question is unanswerable.
Barton D Smock Apr 2013
in fifth grade, the boy submits a report on being stuck with his unborn brother’s teeth.  the boy’s intent is to set himself apart and perhaps place a hard comma after the crush he has on his teacher.  as the teacher reads the report she dreads that by its end she will become convinced and so stops halfway.  she brings the report home and instead of grading it she daydreams about the sister she never had, that she surely ruined.  by sixth grade, the boy lowers his blood at will into that handheld thing where resides his anger’s only foe.
Don Bouchard Jul 2015
Two Frenchmen,
One newly retired,
One still a few years out,
In high back leather chairs
Beside an empty fire place,
Guinness & coffee & conversation
To bring closure,
And to think how to begin again....

"I'm burned out!"
Mssr. Rivere declares,
"Away with books;
Away with the horn!"
He says, and I can tell,
That he feels worn.

Is this how we come to our ends;
Spent in years and worn of halls,
Chalk and marker memories,
And the clattering of chairs....
Old opening lines, closing remarks,
Grading done and logged,
And now it's out we're turned
To walk upon the parks,
Once quicker steps now trudging
Up and down the eternal stairs?

Memories' mellowed now,
And sometimes failing;
Shall we go sadly sighing,
Or do we go out flailing?

At these crossroads,
Care-worn teachers,
Revert to old philosophy,
To faith, and to our friends...
Ancient lines to lead us
Too soon to be old men....

Must look all ways, we,
Then venture out again
To see what lies beyond
The pasts we leave behind;
Take pause this afternoon
Upon the marge
Of journeys new
We must begin.
Thinking about a friend who ended 40 year's teaching this spring and is facing fall without semester preparations.... Life goes on....
SelinaSharday May 2021
Evenings a lovable sensitive thang.
Opting to pass usual good morning greetings as some sang.
Skipping morning bits.. rushing into the afternoon.
She welcomed the mid day
Knowing  with it a smile was on the way.
She allowed early evening to greet letting things bloom.
Working away late evenings as sleepy eyes rang.
Conversations a quick cute head nodding overhang.
Good nights are like lullabies of verbal hugs sangs.
Wasted evenings are snatching from beneath feet taken for granted rugs.
All to start another night in shimmering thoughtful plights.
Tugging away ribbons in flights.
Meaningful minds quietly dreamin.
As others may be secretly scheming.
Attentions paid to faded good morning hello's.
With hollow tones from yesterdays grading zero's.
Wash rinse and repeating..
Behaviors seems to be overwhelming.
Creativity craves new feelings.
Rare moments  seems to be fleeting.
Evenings are acceptable, noondays are welcoming,
as are the rushing of mornings.
selinasharday rosePoet s.a.m 2019-5-1
Just saying passionate about the passing times..
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2016
~for bd~

there is a well in our backyard,
a cooperative well of sorts,
for the water source is a
earth stream deep, an east-west latitudinal,
attitudinal canal,
well traversed, intercontinental and interoceanic,
belonging to no one, free to those who
drink with their eyes

given its diversity,
it's salty sweet earthy soiled provenance,
strike me strange, strikes me well,
its fiercest flavor is its
mundanity,
the plainest cool of tasteless, clear, fresh water,
so easy taken for granted

but therein lies the rub,
for the mundane is the gold vein,
from which we mine our greatest stories,
the best crumbs,
the mineral origins of our words,
to capture the gift of needed inspirational,
for our daily living hymnal
songbook

the aging parental care-taking
wisely and sadly seceded,
the golden child learns lessons of
illness and passing, renewal and replacement,
how to mourn and how to love anew,
when one pet goes, and another comes to
roost and roam in his youthful heart,
and a lover ages and so does she,
for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their
fierce attached tenacity

a professor supervises the household management,
grading student papers, grading life,
secretly writing love paeans to celebrate
what it's all about, the visible so oft ignored,
recorded, recored, reordered,
in the observatory of
bed crumb starry words

I,
a stranger never to be seen,
a million miles from the scene,
smile and weep, loving the shallow for its deep,
finding amazement in the complexity
that only humans have the capacity to commit,
all of us captains of the capital we store,
in the small hallmarks of every day living,
and in an overdue,
catchup e-transmission,
a well wish comes true,
a poem born,
a kindness to myself,
the best gift of and to,
those who are both,
well,
friends and strangers

who remind us that hope too,
is a
well

~~~~~
The Message

Hello Natty man....we are all well...but it has been a busy and difficult year, Mum finally went into residentail care, very busy at work, the golden boy grows in leaps and bounds, my surfer dude grows more grey hairs as do I....sadly there has been a shift change in the demigods of the house the little blue cat, got sick (bowel cancer)...and after much heartache..we made the decision to let him go with dignity and he was put to sleep...We are now presided over by a little tuxedo boy (still a devon rex)....whose energy is sometimes insurmountable....he and the golden boy have bonded....*

hope all is well your end
Take care...and be kind to you
I read a message, I write a poem...
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
Her backbone is a long stretch of American western highway
I trace my fingers eastbound/westbound across the slats of her ribs
pressed against the skin ready to pop
She left southside Midlothian Virginia as soon as she was old enough to make her own bad decisions
sick of being looked at
eyes grading like the big fat red D's stamped on her math homework
She left by foot
bus
plain
train
that grey jetta with the scratch down the passenger side from where she parked too close to that ugly Subaru
she left me
but she needed to breathe some air that wasn't stale with mediocre pretension and the frat house odor of stale beer and sawdust
so run wild
fly free
may your lips utter cliches without fear of derision
go make your life an incredible story
beautiful
ugly
hard to look at
can't look away
make your life a story
and I'll record it
want more? find me at hbaxter94.com
Keiri Aug 2019
Social introverts and a shy extroverts.
Dyslectics grading better in spelling.
Deaf children who know more words.
People with anxiety better at selling.

Kids with ADHD who are more calm.
Autistics who can relate better.
Paralysed people able to feel their palm.
A blind person ready to read every letter.

Who could guess their equality.
Could you imagine, you can't tell 'em appart?
Who could even think of such a society.
Just look at this, humanity's piece of art!

Who could imagine I'm one of ''them''.
One alike you and the rest of this place.
For we all are a different kind of gem.
All shining in our own simple grace.

If there's a ''them'' and there's an ''us''.
But none can tell one from another.
Is there a ''them'' at all, thus.
Then why a ''them'', it's only a bother.
What is disabled these days. After studying the brain and the basics of psychology, all I've ever learned is that we know nothing. Why make a different if we're all the same. And why, when we're all so different, group people who are alike, because no one is a copy of another, yet no one is different at all.
Jon Shierling Jan 2014
Today, sitting in the library waiting for it to be time to go to work, I've decided that its a good time to write about some things that I've been keeping to myself for a while. Victor Frankl has convinced me to live as if I've done it already and now can make good on my promises and make different choices than the last go round (which was one helluva doosie). I should be looking for a house instead, or maybe hunting for that second job I need to take. But what's the difference between one house or another, or even a cardboard box out by the mall if there's no eventual destination one has in mind. So I'm going to write down my dream for the future, a wholesome dream I keep very close because its so real to me. There are other dreams of course, other lives I'm tempted to seek and have tried in the past to actualize, mostly out of a desire to escape, to be somebody else. But this dream is the real one, the true one that is all the more precious because it can belong only to me, whereas sailing the high seas or tramping through unexplored jungles could belong to anybody with a mind to do it. My dream has more to do with minor things, things that don't take herculean courage or a doctorate in linguistics. Things like taking the kids out for ice cream on a hot day. Or piling everybody into the car for the drive from our house in Floyd up to Woodstock for the Shenandoah County Fair. Singing all the old songs and some of the new as we wind our way through the Blueridge. Maybe somebody has a summer cold so Charlotte and I have to hunt for tissues in all the places where they might be, and then find them in the back with the kids where we put them in the first place. And then finally getting there, late probably, so that everybody else is already at the grounds and we can hear the announcer at the cart races as we unpack the car. And then there they all are, my Mother and Stepfather, Uncle and Aunt and Cousins and the Grand Parents deciding to come again this year, though its getting hard for them to make the drive from Virginia Beach. So we all head up to the track to catch the last of that days races, covered in sweat and bumping into random people, a four-year old perched on my shoulders, not just because it's fun for him but also so Charlotte and I can keep track of the other children easier. I can see the magic in their faces as we waddle around the pavilions full of animals for the livestock auctions. Our six year-old daughter gravely points out to her mother that there's something wrong with that turkey in the pen, it's the wrong color. She has only ever seen the wild turkey's around our place, never a domestic white. Charlotte shoots a quick smile at me, trying hard not to laugh as she explains to our daughter why not all turkey's are as pretty as the ones that live near our house. And then before ya know it the sun's going down and it's almost time for the live music to start. So we all wind up in the bleachers again, listening to old country singers whose songs I haven't heard in thirty years, sharing funnel cakes and singing along while I'm wiping powdered sugar off of little noses with my shirt. I could go further, talk about how we decided to keep heading North after the fair, up on to Skyline Drive and Front Royal, and visited the old Firestation where my Great-Grandfather volunteered in the days before there was a McDonald's. But I won't flatten things with too many details. They're not that important sometimes anyway.  What is important, is that when I see these things in my mind's eye, they're clear as if they've already happened. As if I'm remembering the night at the fair with my Family last summer, and writing about it now after I'm done grading papers and the children are getting ready for bed. There's splashing and laughing from a bathroom where it sounds like there's less bathing and more tickling going on, Charlotte laughing hardest of all. I write of this, and I know deep down inside, that I've found something I lost a long, long time ago. As if a lost civilization's Golden Age is sailing out of the mists, building's putting themselves back together and beautiful trees growing right before my eyes. I've got to go now though, I need to help Charlotte dry off the kids and then show the youngest how to make the best PB&J; sandwich ever, the same way my Dad taught me.
Anais Vionet May 2022
The desk was half submerged in a lake of papers.
She felt so adult, being invited for coffee.
But get outta here. With your remarkable eyes and..  WEDDING RING
The question hung invisibly in the air.
What does that mean, coffee?  Have you ever felt like you were missing some obvious sign-signal? Why does he want to have coffee with ME?” Lisa asked herself.
He isn’t the first guy to hit on her but he’s a professor.
WAS he hitting on her?
Her ***-dar said he was hitting on her.
“Sorry, I, I can’t.” she said as her mind searched for context.
She thinks: What if I make him mad - and he decides he doesn’t like me anymore?
Wait, does he like me NOW - or am I just another of a million students he’s taught?
Am I making a thing out of nothing? Am I being fractious?
Maybe coffee means coffee?
She has a hundred thoughts in a millisecond.
“Why not?” he asks, not looking up and marking some student’s paper with a red pin.
“I’m busy with humdrum deadlines,” she said, wondering if that even made sense.
He looks up and chuckles, “No problem.” He says with a smile, then he returns to grading.
After a second she turns and goes.
“I need to find Anais,” she thinks, reaching for her phone.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Fractious means "troublesome."
elle Apr 2012
If I could say what I was thinking, the world would be so different

To the girl I smile at every day in the hallway
heard you're not a ******... Little ****.
To the abandoned little puppy that makes me "sad" on my way home from school
got no where to go? ***** to ****, ***** mutt
To the teacher that whose class I graciously received a 90 when I deserved 100
I see you're dealing with your low self esteem and home problems by unfair grading
To my friend whos dress I say I love
that's the worst dress I've ever seen. You're wearing rags that are fading
To the boy I wave at smoking on the corner
haha you're so dumb. I'll love to see you smoke yourself sick
To the kid I said I'd go to prom with
why should I go with you? You're such a little *****
To the woman with all the insecurities
hmm if I looked like you I'd be insecure too
To the people who try to stop me from these rants
all I have to say is F---- *you
Wow this is terrible
Sorry guys, I was having a bit of an off day haha
Grading curves....
Wrongly ruptured neurological nerves.
Condemned by societal hate,
his fluctuating brain synapses tend to create
vicious, malicious and practitious acts
that gravitate to attack the faith
in every church enlisted in every homestead household.

Retaliation puts him in a chokehold.
A headlock, a leglock, a deadlock of the mind
consciousness revoked, the button is broke
vain attempts to find rewind.

Press Pause.

Bask in his murderous glory,
the bodies of the converted; epitome of gory.
Bloodshed because god is dead claimed Nietzche
He kills all his idols and struggles to think freely.

You see the doctors had his mind locked in a cage,
they built the bars since he was at an illiterate stage.
They taught him how to act, then how to think,
a mindless drone choked cause they revoked the power to speak-
toungue in cheek, they'll chop off your arm just to make sure
nothing's hiding up the sleeve
and questioning authority's their biggest pet peeve.


But enough is enough...I CHOOSE WHAT TO BELIEVE...
Drop my textbook, throw my desk, and through those
guidance doors I leave.
Nhlanhla Moment Feb 2014
Away from the ways mapped to shackle slaves
outside of the sign through the door
as you search and search you find answers more
in a distinct distant distance as you become indistinct
you soon find that you exist
you soon find that you live outside or beyond matter
...
Constricted by the golden ring
you feel the strength of the serpent
you learn of its trickery and deception
You soon begin to see that you are beyond these things
as leaves fall from trees
flying away into the wonder
searching for shade, finding it under
the azure pompous cloud
...
That you too as the leaves wish to know more about the tree
away from these things,
civilization and doctrine
you find the true Laws of Creation
That you are one in the many of The One
The more you separate yourself from the Universe
you learn just who or what it is that composes the Verse

It is at this time that you will see through the prism
The Prism of One
Serving none but the balance of the sum
Judging none but healing some
Making mundane creation fun
A keyboardist or guitarist who would masterfully strum
Sounding the bells of the temples that have souls come
come to place where music is not ever undone

The selves of one self soon multiply
The spine keeps one supine
we crawl, walk, run and soon learn to fly
defying the laws of aviation leaving scientists unable to concoct a reason why
A life a life of lives, gravitating to higher levels of Consciousness
A student grading earning graduation
Evolution of the mind where thought and heart are intertwined

The prism in itself of itself revealing its face to its selves
The dawning of wisdom and liberty
where all answers will be revealed
and all dark forces healed
where death will be a stepping stone as we teleport
when we soon learn of home
Where we will be learned of how we ruined it all
When the all or many becomes the One,
and the prism sleeps
until creation of a different order is softly sung.
Jacey Jul 2012
The first time you said it, it was raining.
I'd just taken my final, and had that sick, certain feeling that I'd failed it.
We were standing by your car and somewhere in the
midst of my rant about unfair grading practices,
and sexist Psych professors...
You. Just.  Said it.

And all I could think was,
I wonder when grades will be posted?

The next time, we were sitting on my couch.
We had just finished dinner and were watching some old movie.
I remember Jimmy Stewart's voice distinctly,
So I know I picked the movie.
You were tickling me, and right in that moment when I lose all control
and give in to the giggles...
You said it again, mostly to yourself, but I heard.

And all I could think was,
I wonder if Jimmy Stewart was ticklish?

The last time, we were eating Italian.
I had gotten marinara sauce on my favorite blue dress,
and as I was trying to get it out, I spilled my water everywhere.
You just laughed that booming laugh of yours,
and then your eyes got dark, serious.
You took my hands in yours and watching my face closely,
you said it again.

And all I could think was,
I wonder if lemon juice will lift this stain?

The only time I said it, was on a Thursday.
Lunch had just ended and we were standing by the swings.
It was really windy so you pushed my hair out of my face.
That's when I almost said it,
but you started to speak.
I just smiled.

My smile must have hurt you,
because you looked away when you told me we wanted different things.
And I didn't say anything.
Instead, I watched you walk back towards the white brick building.
When you were almost there, you paused and started to turn back to me...
then stopped yourself and went inside.

And in that moment, when you were safely out of my reach,
I said it.
Because it was all I could feel since the day that we started.

No one ever heard me,
*but I love you, too.
Lexie Jun 2017
I wish I could live in the same house
As my brothers and my little sisters
I wish I could sleep under the same roof
As my family does

I wish the same shingles that cover my birth giver
And the same blankets that cover my male parental unit
Covered me

I wish.

But, there are a few things that come between
The intentional emotional detachment
The loving abusive comments
The lying, aggression and confrontation, those definitely factor in

But you know when God closes a door he opens a window
But when you don't have a door to lock and hide behind, God can't close it.

But the creepy old man
Who's touched me
And tried to touch me
The way my mouth taste like metal when I bite my tongue to keep from screaming in fustration
The way my body freezes as his claws dig into my leg
The way my mind breaks down like crumbs of a cookie

That is to much to bear.

I have a question.

?.

When you got your Daddy card did you skip over the fine print? Did you forget your glasses so that you couldn't read? Did you just skim over it to fast so that it didn't register? You know, the part where it says protection?

Provision. You got that down pat. No doubt about it. But I mean 50%? That's not a pass by any grading system.

Daughter.
It slips off the end of my tongue and tries to crawl back in. So many times have I had to retreat within myself because I was not under your wings.

Do I love you? Yes.
Do I trust you? Not with a spoon.
Not with my heart, not with myself.

Does that sadden my soul? Oh Lord does it ever.
I wish it was another way.
I wish I could live in your house.
But a house of hell is not one I can call home.

-Xoxo
RyanMJenkins Mar 2014
Here I am, fragile,
feeling every word;
On the pages
In the songs
as well as those,

left unsaid,
unheard

Trying to pick a single point on the timeline where I could trace this feeling back to.  Isolation, frustration, stagnation in motivation, deterioration of time spent smiling.  Profiling the soul in the mirror according to standards set beyond self.  To this day I still feel like a fool asking for help, leaving me even more foolish.

I distanced myself at an early age
My front door led you into walls that yelled with rage
..Instead of feeling trapped in a cage..

I escaped
and made, anything else, my new stage

This came with new pains

Emotionally vulnerable too often
In other people I would get lost in
Always worried about others' mindstates and the toll I would cost them

Love

Here it is, there it goes.
Bliss-ridden, to ill-imposed

I found sanctuary in trebutaries when searching for a river,
Stayed way too long because I liked to be a giver
Found the lake to be desirable when where I was would no longer deliver

Satisfaction

Quick actions kept me on my feet.
Body language no longer discrete
I had to keep going, when too often I'd retreat, to the other body's will
Inhaled too much agua, messed me up worse than any pill

and there were many

Changing scenery, because the greenery was calling me.
Every space in the land, I would fall in between
Realized I gave more love out, than I did to me

Then I found reflection, gazing into the sea.
On the other side I had told Ryan to breathe
Haunted by disconnects and a dad's passing
Leaving voids where there was no chance to meet
Spent just a little time alone to grieve
But spent too long looking at wounds,
watching them bleed.

Now infected and lightheaded
I'm slowly fading
Seeds of sadness have been embedded
Here I am living for the grading

Still unsure of what life I'm making
Succumbed to sorrow right now, that I can't get to shaking
Say what you will, but I refuse to be faking
I've been roughed up, mind and body scraping,
Knowing I've been the cause of much forsaking.

I'd run too if there was something I was chasing

I age feeling uncomplacent
living in and out of various basements
Feeling the cold like bare skin on the pavement

Date night with a book and a hook in my lip
I'll let you know if I make a move if I can ever get a grip
Drained and increasingly pained with every wasted water drip
Ego, couldn't **** it
So it asks, why do I have to go through this?

...Into the abyss, I slip...

Of course this song comes on,
The universe knows I'm sad
Thinking of the things I possibly could have had,
Dealing with the toxic and absent, I felt abandoned and mad.
Our chance came and went like a fad
But people cross paths like the colors that make up plaid
I didn't ever know where I was going
So I sat and watched the people fly by too fast

I tried making things last
& lost sight of the now
Supplying laughs as a class clown
But underneath the paint I wore a frown.

This is whatever, we all get down.
Tomorrow when I wake
I'll pick myself up off the ground
Until then though, my throat will know no sounds.
Joe Thompson Jul 2011
So peaceful and calm
before the lights are turned on
then students arrive.

Class is almost done
student raises hand and yells
"What are we doing?"

Students focused, calm
intent on learning, thinking
someone else's class

Bell rings, students leave
room in disarray - teacher
exhausted, drained

correcting, grading
while family watches movie
while eating, sleeping

— The End —