If we were having coffee

I'd rest my cheek in the palm of my hand and

trace the rim of my cup as I looked at you adoringly.

If we were having coffee

You'd ramble on about something you loved,

using your hand gestures to illustrate accordingly.

If we were having coffee

I'd listen to everyword that leaves your lips intently,

without thinking your ignoring me.

If we were having coffee

You'd probably stop talking and apologize for rambling,

I'd chuckle and shake my head to reassure that your not boring me.

I worry about your mother

I wonder if she’d have preferred another

If she’d have imagined a different kind of woman for you

One who’s softer

A woman who’s manicured edges aren’t a facade

A distraction

A woman who is more table manners and philanthropy

Than swears words and old memories

You open your mouth

And I stare

Your tongue twists and turns

Making a melody out of your words

Your native language

And the one you learned as an adult

Blend together so beautifully on your lips

I smile at the sound

And you begin to blush

You think you’ve misspoken,

Misused,

Made a mistake.

You ask where you went wrong

How to improve

And I laugh again at how different our point of views.

I am smiling at the miracle of communication

And human connection

I am admiring the perseverance

And intelligence

It takes to retrain your mouth

And your brain

To make room for more words and rules

You think I’m teasing,

Correcting.

You speak my language

But how do I make you understand?

So I reread Paper Towns by John Green for like the third time, which is actually not the number of times to reread the book for someone like me who thinks John Green the greatest-author-of-all-time (in my opinion and yh that's right, it's not the Bronte sisters or Jane Austen or Shakespeare just 'cause he wrote in the 15-1600s on brown paper in boring illegible fonts or I'm just an idiotic romantic sucker-for-love fool who dislikes him because Romeo and Juliet both died. And because I can barely understand new English talkless of old English. I shall stand ho talking anon so I ang'r not anyone 'r blaspheme (I hope the translator I used for this worked right https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoShakespearean)

See extract:

The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightning, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust.

If you actually read the book, there's more to this. It also says if we combine all these things that have never happened to us, at least one of them will actually end up happening. But I choose not to go that way as I have chosen a better, more therapeutic way.

From this I think it's obvious it's time we start to redefine a word. 'Miracles.'

The way I see it, a miracle is not just one big good thing that happens to us. A miracle is one small or big bad thing that has never happened to us and will most probably never happen. So I'm starting a list and I hope more people join me in a challenge I plan to create after finishing this potential garbage I'm writing.

So here goes....

1. I will never spontaneously combust.

2. I have never dated a serial killer.

3. I will never die at the age of 15 (it's impossible)

4. I have never been called weak (trust me, this is a big miracle seeing as I have been called many other things that I am and many more things that I'm not)

5. .....

I guess one miracle that I have that actually follows the normal rules of miracles is that I will never finish a list in one sitting (if you have, that list most probably doesn't have all it should contain and you have either 1. forgotten one vital ingredient until after you have finished shopping and gone back to your house 2. not truly fulfilled everything you want to 3. when all is said and done, always felt like something was still missing)

And now, I think I should really stop writing before I start spilling more garbage than I already am. But I really do hope y'all join me.

She put out her cigarette and I watched in wonder as the thin trail of smoke flaoted up into the air and slowly disperssed. She told me she would quit smoking but thats okay I know shes stressed, thats why she yells at me so much and why I got hit yesterday. My eye may look bad now but its okay, because when she hugs me and kisses me and tells me she loves me i know that shes back to her old self. The woman that i married, i can see it in her eyes and feel it when she cups my face gently before she leaves for a week with her friends. It doesn’t matter what others see i know her and she knows me.

Poetry.

Fickle lines of simple rhymes some a bit too complex to let rest on their own. I was never good at traditional poetry. Putting thoughts and feelings onto a page in a certain order fills me with...rage? Rage is the proper word to say right? and yet I am filled with defeat because rage can’t be beat in a contest of rhythm. Oh, golden poetry of words that rhyme seamlessly without doubt or question, when will you let me write you?

Curtailing the end of time,

We ponder upon the ripples in our lakes,

Unaware, perhaps deliberately,

That they are inevitably connected

By the gushing rivers that erode these grounds,

and through their steadfast flowing, eventually meet at one sea.

- ladybell

It’s easy to focus on competition. We’re told it brings out the best of us. That it’s the way of nature and the world. That it promotes innovation and excellence.

However, nobody notices cooperation, and I would argue it contributes far more.

When scientists look at bones they point out the first evidence a species has begun to truly evolve into an intelligent species as a mended broken bone.

Why? Because in a harsh, competitive natural world this small sign shows that an organism made a choice not to abandon its hurt cohort for slowing it down, but to stay and assist them until they healed. That small act shows a level of social connection that leads to larger groups working together to survive. I would argue it is this cooperation that ultimately led to humanity’s domination of an otherwise cruelly competitive world.

Even in the vaunted halls of capitalism, which everyone hails for its competitive nature, the ultimate goal for those in play isn’t a pure competitive field. It’s a quiet oligarchy, holding power and price points in the hands of a few small brands who tacitly cooperate in order to stifle any competition or losses while sharing power amongst themselves. Folks may argue that’s not how capitalism should operate, but I imagine they’d be hard pressed to find any evidence it hasn’t largely shaken out that way.

On the flip side cooperation amongst the disenfranchised - the rebels, the laborers, the minorities, the poor - has led to uprisings as people have pushed for higher standards and basic human rights for centuries. It’s not competition that drives these groups - they’re not aiming for best or better than. They’re aiming for equal.

So say what you will for the glories of competition. I’d argue it’s the power of cooperation that truly drives the world forward.

But then again it’s your choice - which world do you see?

*Doing a School bus evacuation drill*

Me: Why do I have to do this?

Bus driver: In case we get into an accident.

Me: Yeah, but if you do your job correctly, that shouldn't happen.

Bus driver: Ok...But what if we're on a bridge and it breaks?

Me: We all stick our arms out of the windows and row.

My parents worked (and still do) with many different businesses and corporations to better-improve the interaction between staff and faculty, employees and employers, workers and technology…That sort of stuff. That was how they became aquatinted with an individual who worked at the zoo local to our state.

As an act of kindness, this individual allowed us the opportunity to enter the penguin enclosure one day. Of course, I was probably six or seven at the time, so I had no idea what was going on when some random man walked up to my family and led us through a series of backrooms near the enclosure.

I followed the rest of my family ignorantly and curiously, thinking it quite neat that I was finally seeing the undecorated concrete hallways behind the doors with the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” signs on them. I felt like I was some sort of VIP, that I got to go back through those musty and dirty hallways. We passed through a series of doorways, and, at two points, the loose plastic drapes that hang from the ceiling to keep the warm air of the outside hallways from seeping into the enclosure. I was already having the time of my life back there, so, needless to say, I was surprised when the man led us through another door and there were penguins inside!

Me and my family piled into the enclosure (which was rather interesting, and while the enclosure was quite big, much of it was nothing but cold water). In that moment, as I stood on the floor of the enclosure that was designed to look like ice, I was overcome with a slight sense of terror at being so close to at least a dozen or more penguins.

The penguins, of course, were not expecting so many “invaders,” and began to waddle contently away. As the man who had led us in there began trying to usher some of the penguins toward us, I found greater interest at looking out through the glass at the people on the outside of the enclosure. Seeing all those people clustered around the glass, looking inside at us, made me feel all the more important.

My air of superiority faded, however, when the man finally managed to get behind one of the penguins and by doing so ushered it slightly in our direction. Well, now I was beginning to panic. I can recall grabbing my mother’s legs for protection (I know that penguins are fairly small, but back then, I was no taller than them, really).

What didn’t help my nervousness was the man explaining that the penguin closest to us, and another one a few feet away from it, were recent “mates.” The female, he said, grew mildly hostile when the zookeepers got too close to the male. Unfortunately for us, the male was actually quite content with humans, and when he began to waddle toward the man, the female nipped at him with her beak. So there went any chance of me going near those things.

While I was hugging my mother’s legs in fear, my younger brother clumsily walked up to the male penguin and poked it gently in the side. The female nipped at him, and he retreated to our parents as well (but at least he was brave enough, or ignorant enough, to touch it. I say this because all creatures seemed dangerous to us as little kids).

Before we left the enclosure, my parents tried to convince me to pet a penguin, at least once. They said that I would regret it if I did not, but I was firmly content on not getting near those things - I did not need to lose any fingers.

So here I am today, still wishing that I had pet that penguin. I’ve casually walked within only a few dozen meters of black-bears in the wilderness, will happily pick up a snake or jellyfish, and have been less than a foot away from an alligator (I nearly fell into the water next to it, as well. That would have been unfortunate). Yet, for some reason, I simply was not able to brave myself up against a penguin…It’s probably a good thing that that’s one of my greatest regrets from childhood.