Lace and pearls

If the world was lace and pearls..all of the prettiest things , would we be happier?

Would we stop killing because the shine of sunlight on a pink pearl was too lovely to spill blood on?

Would boys stop making girls cry because lace is too  pretty to spoil?

Would hunger pains stop in the stomachs of men and children because truffles and hot chocolate are abundant?

I doubt that pretty tastes and things will stop world hunger, rape and pain. Yet everyday we see shinier buildings and expensive dresses. Sitting near those buildings are dying children. Why beautify a world that is dying in pain slowly?

THE FLOWERS in her hair


The flowers in her hand fell to the floor in bunches of salmon and creamy white. Her heart crashed through the polished rosewood floors to the reception room downstairs, when she walked into her dressing room for her veil, and found her groom beneath his best man in haste fervence. She covered her mouth, shook her head and chastised, ” You couldn’t wait until after the ceremony? Ahh, pass me a faggot while you’re at it. ”

Her groom groped for the box of cigarettes, and threw it at her. She lit it, watching as the two pulled up their trousers.

“You want a green card Louie and I want my family off my back about marriage . Let’s get to this. Bye Steve. He’ll see you later.

She stomped out the cigarette , put her veil on and went to the edge of the marble stairs as the music began.

I dreamt

I dreamt that cool is defined by the tighter the pants are and the bigger that ass that shapes it.

Forget the early promotion because my grades are high, if I wasn’t getting high. And nothing’s wrong with blazing, but to do doesn’t automatically make me amazing.

I refuse to conform to a society that tells me I’m lame if i’m not exactly the same.
One that slaps you in the face if you smile too big at the world. One that calms your bright spirit and lets your dark side loose…

A world run by people who stand behind the noose. And if you think  you’re better because your lighter, please know that you suffer from the same lynching as your darker brother. You’ve been given what seems to be elevation, but remember all thats high, must fall . They’ve fed to you these stereotypes that beautify the whitest skin and demote the chocolate flesh.

When I awoke, I heard children screaming out for freedom through thick clouds of smoke, from under snapbacks and from behind the leaders of their cliques. And I cried with them, deep in my heart , so no one would see we aren’t pleased.

8:00 pancakes

Its 8:00 pm and i’m eating pancakes…the kind thats soft and has honey drizzled over it. I’m certain that their a little undercooked, but i also know that this is the best plate of pancakes i’ve ever eaten. So, now I wonder, if alas, I have a fetish befitting a writer: Deformed undercooked pancakes with honey on top and a pen in my left hand under a torn page from a discarded school book.

Ice cream Parlours

There is something surreal about icecream parlours: the low clear music , the pleasant hum of friends confabulating, the coffee cafè scent that percolates the place, and the occassional sound of a blender creating a smoothie. It all unites to form this atomsphere that you must always be happy in, or at least content with. Ice cream parlours, with their eternally amiable workers , inhaling the creamy fumes, are revered for the peace they bring.

Tell me, what flavour of icecream makes your tastebuds sing songs of praise?

Stupid..stupid. oh :'(

Today i listened to a woman complain about people who write in journals and keep diaries. I thought it was the most thoughtless tirade I had ever been subjected to. Obviously, her life is so uneventful and prosaic..she couldnt see how others would benefit from it. But apart, from her personal feelings, she took it upon herself to disrespect ALL PRIVATE JOURNALISTS and repeat …’stupid, I find its soo stupid’ , and ‘People who keep journals are stupid. If you have a thought, keep it in your brain. ‘

And I responded, “Yes, sometimes that IS the best choice.”


The antidote to her hunger

When she awoke, the sun was on her back and facing her was the boy she loved. She closed her eyes, savouring the warmth, and would have remained so, had her stomach not growled. She peeked out from one eye, at her sleeping boy, but he was already looking at her. He kissed her forehead, said , “I have the antidote for your hunger” and rolled out of bed. He returned with a plate of pancakes stacked high, that he put on her stomach and poured  hot maple syrup over.


My continuous poem.. From last year


  The Continous Poem.
   She’s the ladybug.
He’s the parrot.
Lies, lies
Cant disguise my blush.Grrrrr. anger stems from sadness. I wish to annililate the encryption you just mailed ={ I will coerce your affections, and drive needles into your arms. Love me
. Catch me. Yay, im a peach. No, you cheeky fool, A new yorkian peach. Not a georgian PEACH.ripe and juicy. Sweet and red. UGH.dont stare, dont touch. i dont want your infections infecting me.i’ve got places to be. See me later.
Ello with a smile, but dont awayke tickle smickle ran away the pickle.
Heart beat of a boy and the smile of a girl. If ever he loves me. Ill spin in a whirl.