sometimes I wish I had cancer
then people would send me flowers, and get well soon cards.
but I am bipolar
so when I am sick
I suffer alone, ashamed
because too many times
people synonymously use my illness for crazy.

-please stop

“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.

    He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.

     It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.

     However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.

     For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly  in two.

     He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.

    I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.

     In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ******, or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).

     These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
  
     A criticaster disaster, personified.

     Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.


•

I am barely one millimeter tall
dragging my body limp across
the sidewalk and I try my best not to make eye contact any contact
with those glaring flashlights rising from the dead off their hard-helmeted heads
I'm still trying to keep mine twisted at one-hundred-eighty degrees
but stuck in the bulls-eye of a man-made hurricane    I wouldn't mind hearing a snapping neck any neck.

One of the hell-bent helmets removes itself to reveal a heavy-set sweating neck
the ******* a skateboard and I recoil synonymously at the sight of too many men too tall
it's seventy-five out but it's beginning to feel negative twenty degrees
I walk as quickly as my frost-gnawed legs allow me to move across
this soup line but they're feeding the wrong kind of hungry who wait for their ***** coins to flip heads
to see who goes first to play tackle-the-red-flags with little girls and the rules don't prohibit contact.

I can't imagine these helmets in human form not even when they ask for my number to keep in contact
I think of the time I was sent home for possessing tempting shoulders and a somehow sultry neck
all I see are claw machines and me, a come-here-doll, resisting the balance being ripped from my head
I forget about pacing myself on the ledge of this concrete just so I can stand tall
I hear the voice of an ex-friend who moved across
town tell me that you "just have to be smart", but you don't learn morals from earning degrees.

I'm thinking about the degree
of which it would mean if I were to reverse the prey predator roles and dare to make contact
blood sharing the same bed with safety sparks a flame across
my brain, I don't want to imagine trembling while holding this pocket knife over the apples of their necks
but I am a no choice girl because every time my mother calls she warns me that I'm not tall
enough to even chop the branches from their heads.

The fifth one in line yells something at me about giving head
silently I measure the trajectory of getting the hell out of this corner the exact angle the degree
what lie is there to tell that is tall
enough that they won't be able to see the panic beneath my contacts
I swat away the possibility of nearby lips staining bruises onto my neck
I keep the idea of my big-knuckled boyfriend like pepper-spray in my back pocket waiting at the street across.  

Hey *****, you seem a little cross
you shouldn't dress the way women dress to turn heads
one day you might make a man break his neck.
It finally began nearing seventy-five degrees
again as I fumbled through my contacts
dialed the first boy I knew, doubling as the tallest.  

I'm on the acceptance stage of mourning the fact that I'll never be tall enough to come across as mean when I come in contact
with non-human beings willing to burn holes in the back of girls heads at four-hundred degrees, who put their ****** trophies on the back-burner as long as it means getting some neck.

My definition of truth is: An action synonymously described as it happened, within this barrier of admission, an image portrays a substance, occurance, or incident. This social term can and will be deviated for manipulation, self interest, and out of blatant ignorance. In society truth is hardly colloquial in politics, media, and law;  recognizing that it is used to manipulate and persuade for power, control, or materiallity. There are cases in which deception is the best choice in the longevity of a subject larger than ones self, a substance of this will and shall never occur in a mindful, intellectual, and adept utopia. Sadly, in the global aura we see as today; we lack faith, trust, and ubiquity in fault of karma, the perpetual domino effect of deception, and the ignorant facade of physical dominance. From this computer screen, the pants you are wearing, and the mind you hone are all subject to the absent, mistreated, and altered reality of honesty versus deception.

I get fleeting glimpse of the skies whenever I glance at her eyes
I see the stars entwine,twinkling,dancing to the rhythm of your heart.
breathing new air into my lungs
Which certainly rejuvenates me back to life.
Cover my scars with words that spell out "you'll be fine" synonymously as a tattoo would promising me eternal shine.

I could've been sceptical and believe my eyes have seen a mirage due to the paths in the past whereby a candle went out in the long run and introduced me to the dark.

Comforted me with a smile that ignited your aura.
Smoothened my tongue with that honey that sourced of your thoughts that are floral.

Reminisce of her pretty face that descend unrealistic utopias to my world. As I crackle a little giggle synonymously to that of a bonfire in the dark. Sudden thoughts evaporate the smile like the sparks do.

Her halo disappears,so does she.  Elusive it is to decipher the meaning behind this. Perhaps I'm in denial of the truth. She misled me into darkness with promises of eternal shine. Instead I'm now trapped in the dark only to realise now it was a lie. The illumination she provided was only temporarily lit.

Pretty images of us hand-in-hand on the sandy lands with serenity in the air brought by the ocean hisses. We were about to rewind those kisses. Till I realised I'm dreaming. I woke up,next to me in my bed..she wasn't there.

See you in my next fantasy.

Lately, I have been transitioning words
Like Palate cleansers, Bayonne,
Sangria instead of writing
A daily poem, sometimes we just have to take a step
Back, and think, I came across this wonderful comedy show
The Neighbors’, which was pilot since 2012,
This show had last for two years: great lines
With some wonderful actors and actresses,

I can related, after feeling so alienated myself
being in this foreign country: Since 1983
I once lived in a small town in New Jersey,
Hiller circle, Red bank another part of New Jersey
(Me) an Island girl felt, like a real out of space Alien
Living amounts those upper class ****** folks:

I only last two years in that small town
my poor pride wouldn’t allowed it…
My pride was stronger than my feelings:
I had grown fond of Sally and Brad,
But, I knew

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

I could have been a wonderful poet,
if only I had only taken on this craft seriously,
I love my quiet times on my keyboard,

I never pay much attention to rhyming,
My words are diary entries, to cleanse my palette
De stressing without taking a walk outside into
The Funky low grade city air in New York City:

*Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the world...would do this, it would change the earth

It was the year of my 14th birthday, when I first found that the word “go” had an entirely new meaning.
When I was young, “go” meant to run
go meant to run through the fields until your legs brought you to your own knees
go meant to strive for what you loved, and whatever you loved.

when I was fourteen, go remained as to run,
but to run away.
go meant to leave, with no living desire to
return.
go was synonymously my father’s clenched fists against the kitchen work surface
whilst my mother stood in her flesh and blood.

when i was 7,
i made love potions in my garden with flowers and water.
love was to fanatically involved with something.
love was to feed fuel to the fire,
that would light the way
love was life,
and life was love.

when I turned sixteen,
I went back out into that garden, and made my very own love potion
sticks and stones, which depicted the naivety of the words which supposedly would never hurt but made me feel more than even a
hurricane could.
Mud to represent the lost flowers from the light you took from within.
Love meant nothing more than the heartbreak that snuck up to stab you before Cupid could even hit you.
Love became the tears that my pillow felt on nights when I couldn’t hold in the flood.
Love represented the scrapes and grazes that my own hands gave me.

Unfamiliar words, like “sad, weak, loss and collateral" became friends, the friends that I hoped I would never make.

On my fourteenth birthday, I learnt of a new meaning for hold.
To hold, meant for me
only safety
and the earth to stop turning for just a moment, to give you
the chance to stand back up.
But on my fourteenth birthday,
to hold meant to hold captive,
as you grasped me in your vice
until my words couldn't be spoken,
and my heart screamed so ******* loudly
yet so quietly that the deaf could hear.

I'm approaching my seventeenth birthday,
and i'm scared to discover
what's next.

death is my neighborhood friend
she has followed me all my life
no matter the outcome of situations
death always prevailed
speaking lightly on such a subject would inflict a mere slit on the tip of the tongue
she is genuine at all times
though some may find it hard to believe I have never caught her in a lie
to be frightened is to be frail
for tears shed, hearts break, last words are spoken
actions are derailed into a different outcome
yet through all the demise, she remains vigorous
death has no boundaries
I have learned that the strenuous way
there is no difference in those related to my own blood and water
death stops at no personal obligations nor obstacles
adolescent days dare to compare to my maturity of today
death broke apart relationships of all kind
sometimes spiritually she drained me of love I could no longer bear witness to the outside world
she drained me of my close ones,
'family,' if you will
left me to anguish and mourn like a deserted soul
isolated from society, the world, love, or any such interactions were just extreme to divulge in
building up a tolerance to agony was just a challenge to her for the near future
other times she lacked me of mental termination
friendships of such were burned and buried beneath the ground
someplace called hell
for they would never return and if they sought out to intervene in my life once again death would appear and rip the soulless creatures right out of their existence with me.
I could barely bear witness on either or, nor did I want to comply but I, myself, had no say in the fate of life.
my mind, body, and soul were alternated
never will I be a carbon copy of my old self
death is my friend
she remains synonymously unpredictable
if I, myself, were to die, I would, in turn, welcome my friend.

               








                             , eulogy

   "Hello my dear, for I have not missed you for an abundance of time it seems you have missed me. whereas I contemplate over no comprehension other than the certainty of you needing my very presence. all of the atrocious things I have done is diseased along with the misery of atoning to every thought and situation dealt with my life on this earth. let alone the well being that I also obtained in a timely matter has now released me into a never-ending dimension"

Not all artists are broken.

They paint with colours
drawn from their memories to
empty canvases.

They sculpt figurines
out of their flesh and bones.

They bleed out words
into beautiful prose and poetry.

They create symphonies
with the gentle swish of their wands.

Their steps beat synonymously
with their heart.

Not all artists are broken.
They take all their pain and
turn it to something beautiful.
It’s magic.

downhill despair
of real concern
depression looms
help, save me soon
I know it's bad
lost ambition
to write, to breathe
synonymously
solitude strikes
words leave, as do you
goodbyes too soon
make me feel safe
hold me longer
I'm looking for
something,
someone,
anyone...


gone.

Have you ever noticed how when two professionally involved individuals shake hands,
their respective hands remain congruent,
synonymously shook,
right meeting right....

meanwhile, when couples hold hands,
their respective hands remain mirrored,
fingers reflectively intertwined and interlocked,
right meeting left?

Is this a testament to “opposites attract”?
Is this what they mean?

As I stare to the unascertained
Your face, still tainted on my brain
With the music you've left
Made wretchedness out of the Astaire

Repressed by all the madness
Crippled to take a step to have this dance
This new-found glory
Made us just all weary

They all shouted my name with honor
Synonymously with hatred
And as I have said, I've tried
They took a deep breath, and deflated with a roaring sigh

What is intention without emotion?
A self-fulfilling satisfaction?
A denial of ones true purpose?
Could be just another deception

A beautiful performance
A pretentious guilt
I was never a dancer
But you've always been a believer

I did all this just to save you from the fall

Flourishes amidst freedom
once invisible (alice in) chains shucked
when soul no longer kept linkedin
to jane's addiction
with corporeal duty, entity, fealty...
while formerly shed body electric
gendered as former googly eyed hotmail
actually a prodigy, whose outlook
arouses suspicions regarding him
as person of pinterest living social
in a webbed, wide world of uncertainty

precariously perched atop pinnacle
pirouetting at light speed,
nevertheless defying the laws
of centrifugal and centripetal force
as spirit blithely ushers forth
along a straight line
of orthodox dogmatism, idealism
opportunism, and volunteerism
hemorrhaging, purging, and xing
staunch archconservative
punishing outdated edicts.

When after the final countdown
to the global apocalypse,
(according to Doomsday Clock
January two thousand twenty three  
ninety seconds to midnight)
one beatle browed, foo fighting nebbish
departs the land of the living
and joins rank and file
among the grateful dead,

he (more specifically
the physical and spiritual
embodiments incorporating him
will separate) at long last,
thence latter day sainted essence
can freely exit from the cares
and concerns of an uncertain tomorrow  
no longer plagued by earthly travails
particularly the necessity of money.

Within heliocentric/ Copernican theory
broached sixteenth century promotion
sans scientific paradigm
dogmatically hefty, kinetically lofty,
and poetically thoroughly,
xyz beliefs misalign
wherein mechanistic Ptolemaic,
static venerated yin yang benign
choreography describing elementary forces
governing heavens inviting jinxed, kooky,
loopy measures necessitating

normalization, pacification, rectification,
transformation, validation
to guarantee spatial objects remain in line
which notions trotted out
a cosmic deal with invisible ink
omnipresent, omniscient omnipotent
benevolent creator linkedin
synonymously affixed terrestrial
firmament (planet Earth) nsync
with bedrock as Fred Flintstone
beatified, certified, deified,

edified, fortified, glorified Gibraltar
until undisputed supposedly
figuratively hermetically sealed
fostered religious (church) fathers
to do more than blink
when inquisitive minds (undaunted
though invoked as heretical martyrs)
blaspheming solidly entrenched
blind faith no more functioning with charm
mingly quaint association
with amulets, churinga,
exquisite fetishisms guiding humanity

innumerable journeys kickstarting
legendary modus operandi initially harm
less lee sounding out,
what manifested into a schismatic alarm
regarding millennial questions
undermining liturgical moorings
strong lance heaving arm
irrevocably toppled geocentric mindset,
nonetheless this oblate spheroid dance
sing with the stars redoubled
devout hangers-on fixed

with barnacle cleaving
devotion stalwart stance
populace behooved
(as would be expected),
when Doubting Thomas'
(Paine) revolutionary screeds
threatened (prior to unending)
universal schema just by chance
and despite proclamations pronunciations,
and provocations roiling status quo
hashtagged as evil rants

eventually zealous warfare between
growing heliocentric individuals  
with sacrilegiously blatantly deranged
fiendishly gnarly heathens –
perhaps the Renaissance own
groovy, nutty, and trippy Timothy Leary
the dawn of a quantifiable, explainable theory
(minus all those concentric
embedded orbital paths)
diktat preachers eventually became weary
to challenge recalcitrant

(purported hell raisers
****, I would have fit right in
as a rebel rouser)
whereby agents provocateurs
spout vestigial claim
to Gaea remaining front
and center of galaxy
on par clubbing with Mother Mary.

Cards tossed well
bewitched to nowness
synonymously in the northern west to Roswell I reside
Laurel Canyon cast life is veined in music you get high to
no doubt along the way
or decay
autumn has passed and swiped all forms of grief away.
I wanted an ornament so I bought me eight
for me to debate
about my vogue or the way I walk
and hope
and love
To find an odd one out in process unchained
only because my next stop on the lunar highway is to
burgeon in peace in subtle light
Discard liabilities
fronting mirrored me
proudly wearing fine filigree.

five months ago to the day

Twas the cusp of tooth thousand
twenty three summer solstice,
when yours truly (a fool
and his money went separate ways)
mine cherished nest egg,
I would immediately miss
lesson immediately learned courtesy takeaways
linkedin with looted
checking and savings accounts
analogously yanked, unmoored and unbridged

at Citizen Bank quays
me subsequently exhibiting,
maddening, and snorting
re: imagine how figurative
unbridled horse's *** neighs;
a fate engendering
mental anguish on par with
voluntarily unrolling Scottish welcome mat
readying yours truly
being lynched courtesy kkk

(I apologize for any
incantation, incrimination, incubation,
indiscretion, insinuation, intimation, invitation...),
cuz metook poetic license
attempting to accentuate brazen crafty deception,
how con artist invoked tender loving care
while (all the while) stealthily employing
stealing gambit, which hack
by the way incorporated his suppressed hurray
for him positively coaching me

invisibly eliciting, interposing, manifesting,
questing, and ushering entranceway
into sought after vaunted money
synonymously enlisting sprinkled pet accolade
such as "good job"
never disclosing discerning ulterior motive
exacting a risky (business) mission
unlike dramatizing the WWII story
of the Thailand-Burma Railway
regarding those soldiers who built

Bridge over the River Kwai
in the former scenario exhibiting
how yours truly (me) did betray
requisite necessity to protect
fungible assets of mine
by voluntarily cooperating
with the enterprising villainous prankster,
who applying one alias
called himself "Harvey Specter"
guiding blindsided yours truly
(who received nincompoop of the year award)

obliging scoundrel to withdraw cash willingly
and convert sain moolah into bitcoin
(a type of digital currency
in which a record of transactions maintained
and new units of currency are generated
by the computational solution
of mathematical problems,
and which operates independently
of a central bank) courtesy digital wallet,
which nefarious experience found me
posting a gofundme page to no avail!

Vice linkedin to carnal flesh this writer,
(a married heterosexual ******, –
whose alter egos
named and highlighted courtesy
Gallant and Goofus) attones
to heat these lovely bag of bones
amazingly graceful human specimen
more so than required to generate clones,
whose jibber-jabber feeble poetic words
crafted for no particular rhyme nor reason
analogous to babbling drones
aging musculoskeletal physique groans

kvetching synonymously nsync
with (metronome like) tick tock
where alphanumeric, esoteric, and generic
garden variety alter kocker
(eons ago a foo fighting
beastie boy baby boomer) and/or like
kin himself to famous mummified Pharaoh
ala King Tutankhamun's moans
wrapped in long strips of linen,
indistinguishable among rolling stones
netting sometimes wrapped

each finger and toe individually
against many future unknowns
as the soul of mine traveled across cosmos
temporarily filling black hole sun,
and kerplunked across space/time continuum
easily mistaken for
pinteresting soundcloud virtual xylophones
providing an x uber rent lyft
along the edge of night
amidst dark shadows
to the outer limits of many twilight zones.

Hence, I will beg, borrow or steal loot
and make a fair trade
with a paperback writer,
who exudes profound wisdom
as keen philosophical thinker
oh no... no... no, this
non smoking bandit, nor drinker
will explain to police officer,
that me willingly doth plead
guilty as freshly showered stinker

without spectacles yours truly
can only blinker
if nabbed he
submissively relinquishes freedom
to do time inside
state of the art clinker,
where ample heat warms hoodwinker
covering mine rickety musculoskeletal,
while escorted to attend requisite
appointment with headshrinker
with the icy name of Mister Rinker.

Token Doubting Thomas here
resorted to life of
doggone petty crime without fanfare
for this common man
dirt poor bloke who doth air,
(not that anybody
will give a rat's a$$, nor care
a jot regarding me
squalid shiftless schlepper
bereft of a place to call home

anemic checking and savings accounts
with Citizens Bank
describes my financial welfare),
and similar to Scrooge,
(who mutters "bah humbug"
grossly dislikes Xmas time of year,
not always the case with yours truly,
cuz as a lad din
Southeastern Montgomery County
one cute as a button little boy with

short cropped strawberry blond hair,
(unadulterated, accursed and unbiased
opinion), aye declared
papa tricked out as Santa Claus
divine and stood bug eyed
while shopping with mother
and siblings amidst
madding crowd
(at the King of Prussia Mall)
then no living nightmare

not like today November twenty ninth
tooth how sinned twenty four
bajillion people angrily glare
with livid rage expect
whistleblower shrill shrieking
against crass consumerism thru air
courtesy bull-let-in aiming crosshair,
whereat vendors pushing merchandise
hooping he/she can scare
up brisk business, hence

caveat emptor i.e. buyer beware
aside from aforementioned
hypothetical scenario - I won't ever
overspend credit cards,
which profligate net spending
occurs within glorious land
of bilk and money
Amazon qua America OnLine,
the home of the free..., where
distribution of wealth very unfair.

Yukon still experience
enjoyment of beauty,
according to this poet
of Perkiomen Valley
with less sense and sensibility
than a baboon, or other naked ape,
cuz his pride and prejudice got in the way
while seeking love and friendship,
nevertheless he can bet
dollars to donuts (with glazed eyes)
without oneself spending themselves silly
garnering mountain due of debt

subsequently cue sax and violins
gently weeping (think guitar coming
unstrung at every fret),
thus... ya gotta get get
aware simple pleasures
experience mindfulness, such as
zipping across globe on private jet
hobnobbing with rich and famous,
then swinging by utmost secluded
unconventional monastery, and meet...
nun other than one cell bated abbott
cost 'ello to thine reverent Mother.

* - The exact origin of the British Thermal Unit (BTU) is unclear, but Thomas Tredgold, a British railroad engineer, is the closest person to being credited with its discovery. Tredgold's definition of the BTU was the quantity of pounds avoirdupois that would raise the temperature of a cubic foot of water by one degree Fahrenheit.

- The word "humbug" has been used since the 1700s to describe something or someone that is false or deceptive. It's also been used to describe a trick played on unsuspecting people. The word's exact origin is unknown, but some theories include: For example, you might say "Bah humbug!" if someone won't let children play catch on their lawn