I remember the night you sang Objects in the Mirror to me on the phone. 



I never thought that it would feel this way.

You never taught me how to heal the pain.

I wish you caught me on a different day, when it was easier to be happy.

I kinda find it strange, how the times have changed.

*

I remember how we used to talk about love, like it was an institutionalized little child, drug down from what glory it used to hold; how it used to transcend time and knowledge and beauty and all other emotion.



Someone like you is so hard to find.

I remember that you thought I was put together perfectly. I still don’t understand how you ever reached that end of the spectrum, completely opposite my own view. I still don’t understand how everyone around me sees someone that I don’t see when I look in the mirror. I’m anti-altruistic and unintelligent and completely guilt ridden and not at all beautiful.


All I ask is don’t you worry, I won’t hurt you, don’t you worry.



I remembered how much stock I put in you. I remember how you promised you wouldn’t hurt me, because you had been put through the same wringer as I. I remember how you just unattached yourself one day, on the bias that it was my fault. You stranded me. Probably for another, prettier, girl. 



Listen to me I will set you free,

He ain’t gonna break your heart again.



And I could never figured out what that particular line meant in the scheme of things, but I realize now, as you’re trying to drift back into my life with the drive of a listless breeze, you were setting me up for the next heartbreak. 
After all, all my life really is, is a string of heartbreak.



Go through the worst to reach the ecstasy.

Wish we could go and be free, once baby you and me,

We could change the world forever, and never come back again.


 
I remember the feeling that bloomed in my heart when I realized someone like you cared about someone like me. That someone like you wanted to fix someone like me. Then I reached the conclusion that depression and mental illness isn’t attractive. That you were drawn to the prettier parts of me that resembled tarnished silver, in the hopes that you would have time to break in your silver polish in the spare time and privacy of your awful little home town.



You don’t havta cry. 

And mend a broken hearted girl if you can, I don’t expect you to be capable. 

You have the world right in your hands, your responsibility is unescapable.



I realized that boys don’t like sad girls, but you could see what I could be. I thought you wanted to help me and fix me, but eventually shouldering a burden that isn’t your own gets too heavy to carry. It gets heavier and heavier through the crying, sleepless nights that you would guide me through with your lantern, which became duller each time I needed saving.



Don’t even say you’re about to end it all,

Your life is precious ain’t no need to go and **** yourself. 


Then you left.

On my watch.

On my fault.

On something that wasn’t really my fault.



I promise that I’ll be a different man,

Give me the chance to go and live again.



But here you are with nonchalance and no apologies for the tears wasted on you. 

There may be another boy toying with my broken pieces, fitting me together because he can see the beauty you saw. 

But here you are pretending you still care and still find me beautiful.

There may be beauty in this other boy who helps me, who is just as broken as me, another boy who shares my pain in what I’ve never gotten.

But here you are rehashing memories of nights spent crying over a song.



You don’t have to cry.

Let’s leave it all in the rearview.



But here I am, telling you that broken girls give second chances.



Let’s leave it all in the rearview.

But here I am, telling you that I’m halfway mended.



Let’s leave it all in the rearview.



But here I am, telling you that for me, once you’ve left you cannot re-enter.



Leave it all in the rearview.


Rehashing the rare
Out with the new,
In with the old.
She's always had a thing
For the things that exude
A quirkiness and a bucolic charm
The smell of old books
The black and the white
Good ol' Chaplin, James Dean
And the Sound of Music
The Beatles, a tape recorder
High-waisted pants
And the gramophone
And a rustic old bar
With a gruff bartender
Who's off his rocker
But he'll double up as your therapist
And for the boy with the dark brown eyes
Who looks across the bar at her.
And smiles.
It's all black and white again
Except this time,
It isn't her favourite Casablanca scene
But a white screen
And a thousand particles
Microcosmic
A milieu of
Unfathomable numbers float
Through the atmosphere
Connecting her to him.
And she doesn't want that.
She's always had a thing for the old,
But he makes her doubt that.

I wrote something that I did not mean
When I write that, I feel it’s unseen

In real, I make someone else’s thought mine
Publicize it and leave others to opine

These actually are one liner’s lifted from popular text
I dissemble and exude that I take my life at best

I am the ideal of all humans in my words
For similar situation in real, I am truly reverse

My online life is most beautiful on earth
Whereas offline, I am rehashing in vain to cover up dearth

My posts are full of inspiration and energy
If you meet me in real I am full of lethargy

Why dupe to be a connoisseur and be a commonplace
At least quote the source, give true author some space

Be eclectic and original in expression
Write such that it’s never been done

*Bharti

They all gather to the deadhouse
Like actors taking to a well trodden stage
Whether from London's' Kings Cross
Or the finery of NYC's Queens borough
Back to the fold all prodigal sons must return
To join with those that could never find a way
From this barren cold land and its insular bitter lies
All united now in a grief of one that has been lost  
All divided by a rivalry, a rumor, some generational feud
The priest commences his weary and over versed tone
As he summons his God, his Jesus and his Litany of Saints
Incense burns as a symbol of the prayer of the faithful rising
Yet rising no further than their hypocrisy descends

And where do you look when even Jesus lets you down
As you turn to wipe that burning tear from your face
One not born from holy water nor from their devils grace

Doors are opened and a captive audience awaits
A procession of mourners to take their turn to the stage
Heads bowed all and one, as hands are extended
In weak and feeble grips amid their mumbled exchanges
"Sorry for your loss" and "taken too soon"
None hesitate too long as they navigate this fallowed room
An occasional recognised face among a community of strangers
A moment of warmth emanating from this ritualistic parade
All gone too soon unlike those memories of years past
Of wanting to get out and get free, promising never to go back
Yet to the last of this line they swear that they remember you well
Whilst retiring to The Old Stand with promise of more stories to tell

Where the whiskey chasers flow like the Guinness on draught
Helping to swallow the lies on how good it is to be back
Rehashing of old platitudes but nothing really said

For no one shall ever speak ill of the dead

I don't want you to think of me when I'm gone if it hurts to reminisce.
File the details in the back of your mind and please don't pull them out in fear of forgetting them, for they will only feed the already heavy heart.
In a few weeks, or months, or whenever you're ready, really ready,  I'll have them here for you to read and recollect.

I always freaked out when you licked my face and nostrils and tried to kiss my armpits and toes, but secretly enjoyed the attention and slight aggravation because i knew one day all of it would end, so I tried not to overreact every time in case you decided to actually stop for good. I knew I'd miss it when it was gone.

I liked to shower with the lights off but you had to let me get in first.

I loved your shoulders and wrists and rubbing them softly through the night with my fingertips.

I tried to cuddle you every second i could but i think I put off so much body heat it was hard for you to sleep.

I watched all of the Kevin Gates and Logic interviews because i knew you wanted me to be interested in them because you were.

I wanted to take you to see the ocean and every sunset.

I didn't mind holding your hand and the steering while at the same time, although i wished sometimes i could nap in the passenger seat or be the one shoving fries into your mouth at midnight.

I drank every bottle of wine you bought for me and saw the conscious love in that simple gesture.

I wanted more than you could give, more than anyone could, more than i could give myself.

I wanted nothing more than to be able to love you and for you to love me back in the same way.

I was insecure and worried that I wouldnt ever live up to the first idea you had of me.

I love you. I don't want you to leave. But I will feel so pathetic if I fight for something I know you don't want anymore. I am trying to make this easy although it is killing me.

I wonder how long you've been waiting for an excuse to leave me..
I wonder if she is worth throwing it all away with me. I hope so. Genuinely.
I wonder if she is even the reason.
Maybe I was just too clingy, too needy, too crazy, too much to put up with.  
I hope that if she is the reason, there is longevity in your relationship.
It would hurt even worse if I let you go and you still were unhappy.

The thought of you not wanting me anymore breaks me.

Your kiss on my shoulder through my soft denim shattered me.
I ran away, like I always do, and I sliced my foot open and it still took everything in me not to turn around and run to you.
I even tried, I almost made it, but I turned around again.
I will not fight someone who won't fight back.
.

This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
          Night's abandoned,
               streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
           Winter's wailing.
           **** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
                         tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
               often
               we're only
               rehashing
our worst mistakes
                                  and
                 shivering
                our way be-
             -neath stoplights
lit by good memories.

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll find our way
                                                  back
         ­ into the warmth found behind
          our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
          have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
          and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.

This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
          Nights like this have
               kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
           Winter's crying,
           "**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
           slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
                Sometimes
                we're only
                 retracing
the same missteps
                                but
                    ­frigid
             friends like us
                are melting
into old habits

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll take this route
                                                     for
          one more familiar cold flight
          from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
                    and I've got a couple more
          so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.

Theme/Chorus,many voices,(call and response)
is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE WORST THING EVER,is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!/
Sample Ice-T
"I stare at them blue lines,I think I'mma go blind"

I'm goin crazy cuckoo,finally losing it,
trapped in my gravel pit,rehashing my own ****,
my old ****-still holding me back,
may as well get a pipe and start puffin' up crack,
cos I've cracked,and frankly don't give a ****,
I'm so sick of bangin' my head off this mental block,
its the size of a freight train-Strength of the Hulk,
you really think I wanna ******' sit here and sulk?,
you leeches... keep preachin' deceit,
one more fake smile,OOPS there go teeth...
was that a piece of your jaw on the floor that I saw?
was that real or a dream, I can't tell any more?
each rhyme I write-so ******* tight,
like your first piece of ***-first nasty fight,
first make up ***- first broke up ex,
my mates just stare at me perplexed

when I bare the holes in my soul to all,
I dunno whether I'm gonna get cheers or catcalls,
but don't worry bout that I got plenty of boots,
and I'll kick your ****** ***** til they're bigger than grapefruits,
I'm a live grenade throwin serenades,
So ******* sick I gave cancer aids,
Sandman-sicker than cancer cells in the cerebellum,
Si vis pacem, para bellum ,cause I'm prepared for warfare
I don't advise goin there ,
you'll find limpet mines in your ***** hair,
I'll blow the scabs off the ***** on a filthy *****,
if I have to- I have to to scratch this itch
in the centre of my mind like a black hole Sun,
this mental block has got me all undone...
I swear if I don't finish a track I'll drop dead...
wait a minute...I just ******' well did!

so much for mental blocks Mhmm?
but seriously-y'all ladies and fellas-
is it the worst thing ever?/ ITS THE WORST THING EVER ,
is it the worst thing ever?/ ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER! /

**"then the beat becomes me,sit in the dark and write a whole ******' LP"

I have got so much still
to flush from my soul
Indignation self hatred
angels they stole
Lifes blood removal
stands beyond my control
The world moves on
what is my role

Rehashing the steps
that led up to the past
Confusion denial
all happened too fast
Rearranging my thoughts
to unborn contrast
The world moves on
i reign in last

Sweet faces and hearts
the love given all mine
Trusting angels in place
how the sun did shine
Trials and tribulations
may have smoothed out fine
The world moves on
proof my decline

Final induction
to family this day
They are theirs completely
to secret away
Distance traveled each mile
my hopes decay
The world moves on
bleeding will stay

My soul flushes dark
it remains in my heart
My angels are gone
due to my doubting part
Past mending or fixing
it's too late too start
The world moves on
forever apart

This place is full of ghosts
             pondering Tralfamadorian time
              bouncing red ***** down haunted steps
              rehashing old cliches
              praying Loud Prayers
              peering out of glasses
              walking Spanish across parted oceans
              and ghost-writing poems
              for other kindred spirits.

When a poem speak in confidence
That is how I am as I walk the street of Brooklyn

me, a poem of mystery, a bite senility though
in my sensate world:

I know ones pride, can over shadow them
Never ride ones pride.  Especially when the
price of victory is high but so are the rewards.

Did our former leader congratulate the new President?

Maybe I missed his speech,
pride is born in the heart
Ego is born in the mind
today is November 10th 2020:

My job can be so frustrating at times,
during these times of uncertainty

I have to push on daily,
to have a joyful moment,
at the work place
Give thank in all circumstances,
but I will never uttered those words
That is was God work:
it was because of my inner fears.
That led me to stay as long
as I did at the seafront:

The world feels lighter these days,
Satan power is lessening,
Death has lost its sting ( 1 Corinthians 15:55

For the first time in this country
A black female is the vice president of America
And what bring a smile on my face,
She attend the same college as my younger daughter
Howard University.. Thumps up !

When I was a teenager,
I went swimming late one night
In the cold water down the harbor Road,
A poem was created that night, little did I knew
Here I am rehashing those memories…..
A happy mood clouds our judgement
Words, words, images and the truth
Michael might not remember, but I remember,

The city lights and the whispering of the wind:
My shivering slender body was a poem inside and out:
When my poems speak in confidence,  I walk, the walk
In the street of Brooklyn..

Mind boggling beauty and love,
You have made me your slave.

Bestowed every gift just by your presence,
Elated by every thought.
Love for you has become my only emotion,
Love and trust returned is now my only obsession.
Always and forever this will burn.

Forgetting the world and its worries,
Overcoming past sorrows with our shared joy.
Romeo could never have dreamt of anything better.
Ebullient is how we shall feel from this moment on
Vagaries come in dozens as you come to be by my side,
Eternally together our happiness shines.
Rehashing the subject is simply unavoidable.

5 AM Thoughts ://

If there's one thing that I learned from the past that I went through, he made me want to try to be a better person. Maybe it was for him, at first. But then I realized, no matter how long and how hard I try, I'll never be enough for that person. So all I need to do is just try to be a better person for myself, not for anyone's sake.

I remember how I used to stay up all night to cry and pin myself to my pillow for a few consecutive months. I still could hear all the words he said in the back of my head, rehashing arguments of how he could never understand how I felt about us.

I remember how I could drop everything just to be by his side. I remember how I could try to give him anything that I could possibly give in order to make him happy, even when the situations told me not to.

and that's what happens when you truly care about someone. You want to make them happy. You put their happiness' above yours, even when people told you it's freaking stupid to put one's happiness above yours.

But, again. You truly loved him. Even when he did not. Even when he yelled at you. Even when he called you names. All the manipulations make you think that you're happy with him, when the truth is you're being pathetic trying to scratch the ground off with your bare hands, trying to dig deep, trying so hard to make him happy. But as always, it takes two to tango. and if he can't dance with your jam, neither can you.

and one day, it hit you again
and you'll remember loving him,
all of the good ****
and all of the bad ****, too
But as soon as you realized that you were truly in love with him,
you forget how to heal

People have different ways to heal themselves. Sometimes it's a short period of time, sometimes it's a long period of time. Sometimes it involves the third party, a new one. and sometimes, some people don't need a new one in order to heal.

What about me? for what I have now, I still don't know how much time I need to heal myself from the scratches I got. It took me a year to realize, this is gonna take longer than I thought it would.

and I swear to God,
I promised myself ; "I'll heal, I'll heal"
but it's a lot more than just that

and I thought I have healed,
but then, I realized I haven't healed at all

because in my sleep,
I still see him in my dreams
over, and over,
again.

at last, I'm gonna quote Beyoncé here ;
"but you're just a boy,
and you don't understand how it feels to love a girl,
someday, you'll wish you were a better man

you don't listen to her, and you don't care how it hurts
until you lose the one you wanted, cause you've taken her for granted
and everything you have got destroyed"

Would a voice in heaven
sound beautiful
and inviting
or serious,
constant
and still
maybe sounds of a harp
possibly playing atop
pristine
waters
or Pavarotti singing
up in the mountains
or would it be a moan,
with intention
and focus
maybe just a recording
over loud and annoying  
speakers
with instructions
and a schedule
maybe if I am lucky
I would hear
My father’s voice
telling me how great it is
but sounding nostalgic
and homesick  
a plea for his soft leather chair
wearing his hounds tooth hat
smoking his hand crafted pipe
if death could speak
what issues would it bring up
rehashing troubled times
would this voice
guarantee pearly gates
willing
It beckons me,
conflicted with temptation
when your soul knows
that this is
a voice not
from any place
but from
the best place
where Jesus takes us
to reach
for something
knowing doubts exist
that you would rise
to be with us again

July, 2013  (RIP Dad) In memory of C. Dan Piccolomini

You were my happy pill,
A drug I would chug down with sugar and wine
Giving me medicine for my sins

You were the substance to my life
The substance that I abused
Getting me high so I dont feel the lows
Knocking me out into sleep every night

With you, I was a ******
Always happy and all jumpy
Getting funky and needy

But since you've been gone I'm relapsing
Rehashing the feelings of intoxication
Missing it, craving it, wanting it, needing it
Rehashing it:
Missing you, crazing you, wanting you  needing you

rehashing, redacting words in breath-
less thought. back into, place of
belonging; back for, a time of concep-
tion. then, and always, exhaling tone
of muscles vibrating. spoken, reverbed
of this hollowed body. eye-to-eye, view-
ing a soul outside this vessel; speak
to the eyes to be heard ofa  soul. and
of last breath -- words spoke, never
meant heard of interred. of last breath,
to be out sole compansion of lamplight;
to sprade paper scraps where images of
life were found writ from mumbled
hand. words, those left withered th-
oughts scrapped when weened of
connectiong. eyelids flutter, lack comm-
itment of the soul wandering through
broken roof and heaveward on and
beyond an impossible sky gliterring.
out into some million mile expanse --
some insurmountable spanse not even
Katahdin might hope sought. simple
lamp light, casting shadows, in never
furnished room. they stroboscope with
the fluttering -- an attempt to disavow
final alone breath. a first kiss of sweetheart
named death, but not that from mouth of stereo-
typed sickle-carrier. death with lips full and unpainted;
lips not of harlot whose eyes were long ago shut away.
were long ago gone, beyond this spansed memory. death,
sweetheart of childhood, wavering in the dim light; death,
patient waiting found only from one love lost to the million
mile spanse. sweetheart, with face to ease and supplement of
spirit; out wandering awaiting spirit-loose companion in abidement
of union outside the restraint of physicality. her -- death -- finding
manifestation in shadows thrown through empty space.
cast of oil-soaked lamp's wick turned low; vespers of shadows
ever morphing. ever cooing. waiting to accompany part
and leave pense upon ever-veiled soul of him whom
sought an emanation's first and final kiss of unpainted lips.

I knew right away
when you stopped choosing me.

I knew because you started
only texting back one word replies,

I knew because none of you snap stories
from our trip included me,

I knew because you started untagging yourself
in my instagram pictures - that you told me to tag you in,

I knew because you lied about
other girls being down the shore,

I knew because you changed your Facebook
picture to you and a "friend",

I knew because in the photo
you were wearing a shirt that I bought you,

I knew because you said
she was just an old friend,

I knew because you changed my contact name in your phone
but wouldn't explain why,

I knew because you started rehashing previous drama
just to find an excuse,

I knew because you started
ignoring my calls,

I knew because you said you
just weren't ready for a relationship,

I knew because you said you
needed some space,

I knew because two days later your Facebook said
"In a Relationship" with the girl from your picture,

I knew then that you had never been choosing me.
You were placing me,
into the void of whatever your life was missing.
Merely a place holder
until you found what you really wanted.

I knew, right away
that you stopped wanting me, choosing me, and loving me
because you never wanted
to choose me
to love
at all.

Ink blotches, coffee stains
cramped fingers, chronic strain.

I can't control the need,
to constantly feed,
my hollowed soul.

With pretty words and stories,
rehashing former glories.

I can't- can't stop myself.

For I'm trapped in a prison of my own design: a prison of pens and paper.

Lying in bed,
can't get you oughta my head.

rehashing the things i said,
wondering how it was read.

feel bad
if I made you sad

Feeling glad
for the times We had

Wonder why
I made you cry

Firewood, flowers, food and fudge
haven't seen you since,
but from my mind you will not budge.

Closed purple tulips of royalty
for My Grace

She shows them open totally
reddens my face

The stars we say are aligning,
just something about the timing

You seem so close
but yet so far
I often wonder where you are.

Are you there,
do you care

Its hard to share,
do I dare

At the screen I stare
Its tough to bare

We told citronella secrets
Under the summer stars
When the Christmas lights burned
Out of the airy tent
The tiki torch tradition
Was newly begun.

We told laughing love stories
As we walked the phantom dog
Down the silent, midnight road
Occasionally lit up by giggling headlights.

We drank soda from crinkling cans
Sipping down our suppositions
Rehashing the year and all
Our misconceptions by the
Light of the tropical
Tribal flames.

We told citronella secrets
And shared our autumnal fantasies.

We’re in the common room, Lisa and I. It’s Friday afternoon, about 2 - It’s partly-sunny and 45°f. outside. We’ve claimed the two squares of temporary rectangular sunlight like the Spanish conquistadors of old once claimed everything.

I’m just drowsing, I had a test this morning, I got up at 3:30am to study for it and although I’m confident I did ok, I find myself rehashing it when I close my eyes. So I’m determinedly not closing my eyes - much. Lisa has a book open and she’s working on a chemistry problem set (called a pset) assigned as homework.

Looking out and up, there’s only one, lonely, cumulonimbus cloud in the sky. It's there, as if placed - a piece of art - the rest of the sky remaining defiantly blank. At first glance, it resembled a man, hanging by his neck, blowing in the wind under a giant mushroom gallows - but he soon detached and floated away like a tattered kite.

Lisa starts asking a question, without looking up from her book. “Ok, so when hydrogen acts as a metal instead of a nonmetal..”

“Please don’t make me think,” I whisper in a tired monotone, “I’m unprepared.”

“Ugh.” Lisa, grunted. She absorbed her disappointment quietly, without taking offense.

We’re like two disparate species coexisting in the same landscape: the chemistry-tested and the soon-to-be-tested - neither diminished the other but we’re separate.

Leong and Anna come in together, breaking off to their rooms to shed bookbags and coats but soon they’re filling the room with restless energy. “Has anyone heard from Sophy?” Leong asks.

Sophy failed a rapid test yesterday morning and was hewn from the population like a cancer on the student body - and swooped off to isolation housing. “Yeah, I took her some stuff this morning,” I report, “She seems ok.”

People are dropping to covid like flies. None of us are invincible, we roommates watch each other - as if any one of us could go full-on-zombie at any moment - not unlike I imagine dinner at the Trumps these days - everyone looking around, nonchalantly, wondering who’ll flip first - but here, if you cough, you’ll start a panic.

Note this my cohort,
debunk what junk crusts your eye
Dig up memory of that first trespass
Loyalty sworn to innocence why?
Note this disease given between my thighs
Come by seek now dolor of blistered
Note condemnation, impressive tongue-lashing
Note my enemies' constant rehashing
And how must I rehabilitate rapture?
Like lamb offered in sacrificed slashing

Yet given my pride, note my superb devotees
Partiality given as they come and go with winter's breeze

Note winter's cold and me on my knees
Between two thieves strung and nailed
Note glory of how love tried but failed
As lamb of sacrifice last breath exhaled

Eight of us sat at the table that night,
Rehashing the news,
Retelling the plots,
Familiar voices singing old songs;
Getting it right.

Between hors d'oeuvres and bottles,
One wife remarked,
She wished her husband
To be better read.
To us who knew her,
She said better bred.
A point best kept
Within her head,
Silent and unsaid.

He turned red,
The goodly man and dad,
A lad who could build
From ethereal prints in his head.

I could feel the company's dread.
He pushed his chair out,
Stood sturdy and stable,
Looked at the company
Sitting full round his table:

I can't read or write too good,
I'd be a Stooge in Hollywood,
Don't believe she said it in spite,
For forty years she's been my wife.
She knows I'll never change my ways,
She says things just to hear her voice.

Then sat with his elbows back on the table.

Beyond the beautiful forever
Untouched by the slithering mores
She rises,

Leaving behind the temporal obstructs
She rallies past the towering walls
Unhinged like raw power
Full of resilience, she would move forward

Rehashing the past won’t change a thing
From the ashes of her past begin a new awakening
Fear cannot shut her down anymore
She embraced courage, dispelling the herd

Rising above the cloudy vow
Up above the land of chaos
Only way she could live; if she would grow
Now it’s the dark’s turn to be afraid