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i did this for some fun, so enjoy XD

To Margerie

Everyone deserves a roast at least once,
so raise your dead hand and salute my speech
Because you never did have a sense of humour at all;
You looked like a God and flaunted it like hell
Your ass was as tight as glue and your tongue was forked
We'd try to help you but you'd never take it,
convinced that being stubborn was the way to go.
You bitched and whined
you never took your medicine
regardless of the fact that your guilt stood out like a sore thumb.
We all wondered when you'd apologize
for the very first, and probably last time.
You took and took but never gave, not even a penny
to the poor. But who cares, they weren't people to you anyway.
If you'd have ever had kids, you would have needed an extra bed
for the social insurance worker permanently residing in your house.
On your first date, you dumped a poor kid
because well, he only bought 5th row seats for the opera show.
You were nothing but a manipulating, self-centred
self-serving, overconfident, egocentric, stubborn ass
who refused to wear a pair of heels worth less than two-hundred dollars
on any given day.
I remember when that commercial claimed
“If a man loves you, he'd buy you a diamond.” and you, being you,
were shocked: “That's it? Just a diamond? Pathetic.”
But the worst you did was sleeping with the Boss' son for three months
every Sunday in the Confession room at his family church, just to get ahead
because you figured a promotion had long been on your list of needs.
If there was one thing that had made you angrier than usual,
it's when you walked home one day, claiming “life's a bitch and then you die”
and I turned to you and said “life's a bitch and then I married one.”
But like I said, everyone deserves a roast at least once,
and for all of your faults and immaturity
I have loved you for sixty two years and that now-empty side of the bed
reminds me so much of how you treated life;
Don't stop until you drop, because time vanishes before your eyes.
Margerie Hellen Rosedale,
you were the best and worst of my life.
I will miss you like no other.
* * *
Seriously people, after the trouble delyar went to, to tag all the back entries, you'd think you'd be nice enough to actually use it. (Yes, I'm looking at the three poems that have been posted since the tags system was instated and that I've now tagged.)

It's really not hard. Write your piece of beautiful word manipulation, post it, and then on the page that comes up, click the fourth link that says 'Edit this entry's tags, scroll to the bottom of the page and find your own username. Or alternately, browse to your poem's permalink, and along the row of buttons at the top (with add-to-memory and edit and such), click the blue button with the world TAG on it and find your username on the ensuing page.

Keep your creations easy to find, eh? Please and thank you! :)

--- 1/3 of the mod team.
* * *
Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Under my bed you haunt
with fear pressing me deeper and deeper
underneath covers and far from your want
Slink and creep, for out you come
While I hide and bury,
trembling and numb.

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
From out of blankets and through rows of trees
Running and running
I can hear that one and only coughing wheeze

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
My house is empty, dark and asleep
or that's what I thought,
for you never made a sound, not even a peep
When I look behind and you're no longer there
Daylight rises
and you crawl straight back to your lair.

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Well it looks like you're finally gone
off to chase another child
like a destitute lover bound to move on.

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Walking to school, because it looks like I've won
Head held high, chin in the air
a nose so high it could touch the sun.
But soon the sun begins to set
And worry strikes me right in the back
For it looks as if I've been caught in your net.

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Out from your hiding you crawl
my future dictates such gruesome death
like Humpty Dumpty on his brick wall

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Rooted to the spot I stand
being swallowed by unknown fear
sinking slowly, from land to quicksand
Although it's nice,
my place isn't in heaven
I don't want to die, I'm only a young boy of seven.

Well here you come, come to feed
Hey you, my private little monster
chasing me down from a desire for need
Waking up sweaty and screaming
returning to a familiar sight
now awake and no longer dreaming
Comforting with loving arms
Save me momma, your protect me so
You can beat the monster
And that's what I'll always know.
* * *
Alright folks, I have tagged all the entries previous to this one by author (or, in the case of off-topic posts as "mod post", "recommendation" and "other").

If you have a number in your name, it has been removed as tags don't like those. And _1gravity1_ was shortened to gravity because I'm lazy like that. Everyone else's should be in tact.

That is all.


* * *
Her touch, his taste,
such desperate finality to the landlocked
and red smeared lipstick bled to chocolate.
One tainted love, one roped night
Meshed and weaved on her pale waist
A faint reminder of the whipped cream writing
Or a cherry flavored flicker of the tongue
The way she can't stand to be teased
But a faint gasp reveals a little more
than just the right spot,
a little bit more than beautiful waves of parting skin
Overlapping and intersecting
a crash of heated love signals the break point
for drops of pleasure to find their mark
Whispered thoughts driven sky high
maintained by hushed exhalation
Floating above one tainted love, one roped night
Causing her touch, his taste,
to reach through red curtains
for that well-timed encore.
* * *
* * *
Transaction Record: Loonie Toonie
Fifty one-dollar knicknacks
That was the price of your friendship
Paid via a dare accepted after milkshakes in

Orleans. ON K1C 7E2,
They should make that your mailing address
And let my letters pile up on the flowers
While I sit and wait for you to send me at least a

Twelve to mark each hug you forgot
To give me because you were too busy
TO waste time on my

Account. Type? Chequing...
Our compatibility changed the moment you walked
Away from that table covered in empty milkshake-glasses
And into oncoming traffic in front of Loonie Toonie.


* * *
the best four years of my life! totally!
we tell each other with bright, cheerful
smiles, hoping the weight of the yearbook that our friends slaved over -
remember deadline week? -
would be enough to crush that nagging voice
snidely reminding us of the losses that outnumber the gains

we'll keep in touch in university! promise!
and another vow is carelessly made
(just to be broken)
with the owner secretly wishing for some catastrophic miracle
that would cause the other to vanish off the face of the earth
because the people we will miss next year are not the so-called friends we know now
but the shy strangers we met four years ago

absolutely no regrets, right? none!
we try to convince ourselves, scrolling and clicking
our way through the archives of our teenage emotions
subjecting ourselves to the cruelest of nostalgia at the most inopportune of times -
right before that history mock exam, anyone? -
never mind that we're not even old enough to sign our own field trip forms yet

you'll do great wherever you go! I know it!
is the theme for the day, the week, the month, the year
(or maybe, just this minute)
because you're sitting there, looking at each other with those brightcheerfulfake smiles
and you don't believe that. you all know it's a lie.
a complete and total lie.
but sometimes...for now, that's all you can hold onto.
* * *

            I guess you could call me a hopeless perfectionist. Because, what else but perfection, is there to strive for in this life? But, I suppose perfection has a different meaning to everyone; my version is difficult to explain through definition. Therefore, I’ll define it through examples.

  1. It was one of those beautiful crisp winter days. We’d just gotten back from skiing. We made hot cocoa—and you were there with me, for the first time. A gentle presence reminding me that you truly don’t have to be alone in this world. That there is someone with whom you can sit in a window sill, basking in the warm winter sun reflecting off of the snow covering every inch of the barren winter world, sharing the solace of such a feeling so grotesquely complex in its own simplicity.
  2. It was the dog days of summer. We’d lit one of those huge citronella candles in a bucket to stave off the mosquitoes and we’d sat down by the pond, under a velvet black sky, so dense that it seemed to loom right above our heads. The only light was that of a dim lantern at our feet, and the moon staring down at us, intruding on the safety we felt in each other’s arms. It was then, in that moment that I knew. We couldn’t see more than a foot past our own noses, but we didn’t need to­—we had each other and the whole Universe of light captured in the water at our feet.
  3. I had not a care in the world: my head on your perfect chest, the soft rhythm of your heart pounding into my ears, the calm we both felt in that place. Bare skin brushing bare skin—a little sticky from the ocean’s salt—beneath the tropical sun—usually unbearable but it was as if in that moment Nature had decided to give us a temporary respite from the cruel taste of reality. We were warm, and the wind whispering over us carried with it our worries, leaving behind but one little crumb of happiness.
  4. Under normal circumstances, we would have been frigid out on the roof that night. On top of the world, above the city lights, and below the carpet of stars, we found our morsel of brilliance. I realised then that I wasn’t scared, anymore. You held me as I trembled in my emotion—because truthfully, I wasn’t cold with your arms keeping me safe, pulling us so close that we could diffuse into each other. My head fit so flawlessly into that nook between your shoulder and your chest, and as the mercury began to freeze, we were glowing with an unexpected warmth.
            I’ve learned to take life—and love—as it comes. Never miss that chance, because even if for one moment, however fleeting, you can trust another enough to open yourself to them, and have them open themselves to you, you’ll find perfection in the only form it can exist in this life.
Current Mood:
calm calm
Current Music:
the bad plus
* * *

i’ve learned a lot from breathing:
   the rise and fall of your chest as you
sleep, the metronome that teaches me
   to be synchronized yet out of tune
with the train whistling outside my window

inside the fishtank coffeehouse you’re
   glowing yellow, cheeks pink from the warmth
half a smile and whipped cream
   smeared about your indecisive lips

outside it’s grey and raining and i’m
   enjoying every drop of it in my hair
sipping on my mocha; it’s just the way
   i remember it, honey, only sweeter
* * *
stillness of mind and fortitude of heart
i am a Pandora--of knots and holes
and silver crosses--of polemic hope.

even deities can be cracked--heaven's
eloquence offers no shelter, no home
for crying gods' elegies to a Hera.

they--(who is this royal fatalist: they?)
recommend two acetaminophen, hands
exfoliated and washed clean of hurt;

they--(immortal, imperative, why?)
however, prescribe a second helping
of l'amour: you've armour--your ardour.

but every sliver of a year's december
shrouded in perpetual november
sees Pandora sculpt its vice into hope.


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