That cat
He looks at me,
The neighbor’s pet.
Black fur,
Piercing eyes.
I know it’s just a symbol
Of everything wrong
Within me,
But it’s not .
I wish I was at the right point,
I wish I could, love a cat.
But I can’t.
It’s not only me against self.
Not a “get over it" thing.
This cat despises me,
He looks at me with hatred,
With hunger.
He sees that I'm not
Going to be a lover.
He couldn’t win me over,
With a dead bird on my mat.
So bettet get the claws out.
Make a plan and execute.
Take me out, like some mobster.
Because I know too much....
Mother
He abused me, he abused her. He abused us all with his words. You'd think that maybe, after he called me a burden with no real friends, after he said I ws seeking attention, after he told me to shut up and take it, she couldn't close her eyes. She couldn't. Right? You'd think she'd notice each time he cut me with his words that maybe something's wrong, but no. He's "not like that". She hears. But she doesn't ever look. She doesn't try to see. She says that I deserve it. She becomes more like him every day.
The noodles, steaming
There's still time
Not too late, hear me.
Take the complimentary apple,
Stow it for later.
Eat The morning noodles
While it's still hot.
Not too late,
Listen to music
As the steam rises
from the bowl.
Not too late
As the steam rises
and the machines work,
Sharpening , getting ready.
Not too late
To do something that satisfies;
The A flat sonata by big B.
The E flat trio by chubby S.
It was not too late for them
To compose music that carries you.
Not too late, I say,
Even if it means nothing
In some cosmological sense.
Even if it won't be
an equal to these giants.
The bar is pretty low anyway,
As these are the last days.
So no risk of failing.
The stakes are not high.
And it's not too late
Before the robots come,
To have or do something.
Even if the possibilities
Of age and time,
Are a closing sphincter,
Even if those red LEDs
Will one day stare.
Even if the polar bears starve
Signalling how precious
A bowl of noodles will become.
Even if the ocean's
now made of plastic.
And there are so many red buttons,
And incurables.
Not too late, still.
Not to avoid- that is too late,
But at least you took the time.
And you know that you still
have the apple for later.
There are two types.
There are two types of people in the world, you can tell them apart when they look at the sky.
The endless abyss that surrounds our Infinitesimal solar system is simply to large for any mind to comprehend. It reminds us that whatever happens on Earth, good or bad, the abyss doesn't care. It will continue on for eternity with or without us. That expanse of time stretching out before you has an effect.
So when you look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back into you, does it make you anxious? Do you worry about how small you are? Does it motivate you to strive to be remembered? Or does it fill you with peace? Do you feel like all your problems are suddenly very small also? Happy that no matter what we do, everything will carry on?
Which type are you?
i want to fight
in my mind,
i fight.
but what i say, what i do,
is nothing.
in my mind,
i am standing up for myself.
i am persuading myself that
i need to eat
it is okay to get a question wrong
grades do not define me
looks are not who i am
but what always happens is that
i say nothing when you make fun of me,
i refuse to eat if i can go a little longer,
i never raise my hand although i have the right answer,
i worry over a perfect GPA,
i hate the body i'm stuck in.
in theory, i fight.
i really do.
in reality, i run away.
always disappointing myself.
maybe one day i can proudly say that i’m a fighter.
A Gift for Aging Women
No more violent outbursts,
No more irritating words,
No more eye-roll glances,
No more than I deserve.
No more "poor choice" foods,
No more counting carbs,
No more thickening waistlines,
No more dieting barbs.
No more bursts of heat,
No more fiery flashes,
No more sweaty sheets,
No more temperature crashes.
If I ruled the world,
Because there's no just cause,
I'd have to abolish the lifechange,
The world calls menopause.
If you’ve ever had a good anchovy(or friend), you’ll want more.
Has you world ever been turned upside down? Have you ever found yourself in a 180 degree position on something? For always, I would say, if asked, “There is no food I hate except anchovies.” Then one day, I ate one by accident, and said “What is that exquisite taste?” It shocked the hell out of me.
When I became friends with Cheryl, decades ago, my view on friendship also did a 180. Not right away of course, because a shared history takes time and plays a role in the strength of a relationship. Before I met her, friends felt at times burdensome; just too much drama. Who needs too much drama in their life? I had people I called friends and was social enough, but I could never really let anyone “in.” It was as if I was playing a role in a bad play, acting, but never truly playing an authentic character, the role of me. Until Cheryl.
The credit for the change in my view on friendship 100 percent goes to Cheryl. What was different about her than all the “friends” that came in and out of my life before I met her? Her authenticity, her loyalty and unconditional friendship. Because she gave the gift of herself to me, I let her “in”, and gave the gift of myself to her.
Never ever did we fight. We disagreed, but we did so with grace. We lifted each other up at every juncture with encouragement and praise and as a bonus, we had fun. So often, we were silly and laughed till our sides hurt. It’s amazing how easy it is to laugh with someone when you feel at ease with them, at home. As well, when needed, we had a shoulder to cry on. It’s hard for me to imagine, just like the exquisite taste of that unexpected anchovy, that anyone would say NO to a friendship like ours.
Our friendship continues to this day. Sometimes a month can go by and we don’t talk or see each other; maybe just a text here and there, but the bond is unbreakable. What being friends with Cheryl has taught me is to enjoy people, to let them in and to be myself. All of us like doing our own thing. We have the business of life to take care of; consequently limits on time. Some of us are extroverts, some introverts, and maybe some of us are ambiverts, somewhere in between, but I’d say all of us could find value in a true friendship. I’d say I’m an ambivert. I really like my alone time, but I also, mainly because of Cheryl, see the value in connecting with people. She is a treasured gift and like anchovies made me believe in possibilities.
If you don’t have a Chery in your life, may you be blessed with one, and for the hell of it if you don’t like anchovies, well...that’s an unopened can for you to decide to open.
So you want to be a queen.
You want to be a queen because you think it will mean an easy life.
Full of feasting and drinking.
But you will soon learn that queens are not made of anything nice.
Not those that survive.
The ones you read about in your history books
are forged of fire and ash.
Yes it is good to be queen, but being queen is hard.
It requires terrible decisions.
Choices that hurt people and go against everything you thought you stood for.
Choices that change you, and sometimes not for the better.
The price to be a ruler is not a light one.
It costs your soul for the right to call yourself a queen.