Category Archives: Word of The Month

Waves by Batool Hasan

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“See you on Thursday,” I had promised him.

I hastily open the pink bag, which was hidden at the back of my closet, to reveal the pearly white bra and matching knickers I had carefully picked out. After undressing and putting on the lingerie, I open another bag. Mesmerized by the velvety material, I spend a few minutes losing myself in the void of black fabric. I slowly pull the dress on, careful not to ruin the black roses and delicate lace that line the short sleeves.

He said, “I want you as you are.”

The corners of my lips twitch in a smile as I sprint to the dresser, picking up the makeup I’ve chosen. I take my time to make sure it’s perfect.

Today is Thursday, 10th of January 2013.

Today is the day I’m finally going to do it.

I open the small, blue boxes of jewelry and put on pearl earrings and a single line of diamonds for a bracelet.

I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the small knots. I meticulously arrange it in a bun on top of my head, and slip a few jeweled hairpins around it.

He had told me,“ Suicide takes you to hell.”

Funny how that sounded more of an invitation than a warning.

I pick up his gift and pass the dull threads of his necklace between my fingers.

I leave the carefully written note on my bedside table.

Why, hello mother and father!

So, you found me, huh?

Was my body still warm?

No? Didn’t think so either.

You should be glad I didn’t leave a bloody mess on your overly expensive Persian carpet.

Let’s cut the crap and get straight to the point, shall we?

I think you’ve told enough lies to earn you a lifetime of scrubbing those filthy tongues. Don’t disrespect me by telling people that I was loved and happy.

No, father, I am now happy.

Mother, don’t bother prettifying my grave with flowers; adorning death with more death is just too fucking depressing.

Sorry, but the “You’re young and dumb” lectures didn’t balance the chemicals in my brain.

What a shame.

To my benevolent friends,

Well, thank you for the 15 minutes of pretend love you so graciously offered me.

Just a suggestion though, maybe you should use your immense wealth to buy yourself a good set of manners and morals.

 

I am not a sob story.

Sincerely,

I hate you all.

 

I step on his stage and wrap the tightly knotted noose around my neck.

I will die on my terms. By my hands.

I am the crime scene.

I am the evidence.

I am just another battlefield, soon to be buried under generations of dirt.

Right

Where

I

Belong.

And I will soon be a pile of decomposed youth,

Having no value,

Purpose,

Or use.

I kick the chair and dive into his icy embrace, feeling his frosty welcome spread through me like tidal waves.

Oh, how I longed to feel you.

Waves by Hawra’a Khalfan

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Chocolate! Everywhere! For miles all he could see was chocolate, and his eyes bulged out as if they were going to escape their sockets; Kit Kat, Aero, Flake, Galaxy, Milky Way, Bueno, M&M’s, and oh! so many Maltesers. He picked up one of the Maltesers packets, pried it open with his teeth, and raised it up to empty the whole bag into his mouth. Before he could even take a bite, he heard a faint voice calling his name, “Abdulrahman.”

 

“Abdulrahman!”

 

“Abdulrahman!” It kept getting louder and louder and all he wanted to do was to just chew on the chocolaty goodness that already filled up his mouth.

 

“ABDULRAHMAN!” He felt an invisible palm slap his face so hard that it caused all the small chocolates to come shooting out of his mouth like bullets.

 

He opened my eyes, and here he was, back again, to this reality- this dreadful reality. “Ugh,” he forced his eyes shut and could still see all the chocolate that was waiting for him. He forced them shut with even more energy, focusing all his power on going back to sleep. I can do this, I can go back to it! He focused. Why can’t I go back! Nope, I got nothing. Fine, I’m up but I am so angry at Mama. Why would she wake me up like that! At least I could have taken one bite of the chocolate if she didn’t hit me.

 

“I know you’re awake. Get up right now! Uncle Lothan is picking you up in 5 minutes to take you to work.”

 

“But Mama, I really don’t feel good today,” I knew this is a battle I was going to lose, but it was worth a try, anyway.

 

“Abdulrahman. If you do not get out of bed this instant you will make me slap you again, and I will not be gentle this time! Up. Now!”

 

He sighed, and said nothing else to her. I know we need this money, but I just really want one day off. I just really want to go back to sleep. Knowing that there was nothing else to be said or done, he jumped out of his bed and rushed to the bathroom. His mother always stressed the fact that him and his little brothers must use as little toothpaste as possible- to preserve it. He knew that if he was caught using more toothpaste than he needed, it’ll lead to a beating- but today his mother melted his chocolate world, so he couldn’t care less what the consequences might be. He went on to create a small mountain of toothpaste on his toothbrush as payback, it has so much flavor, it burns but it feels good, he brushed his teeth with a smile on his face.

 

He aligned his palm in front of his mouth and blew out a slow puff of air and inhaled it quickly to be able to smell his fresh breath. He now must be careful with his breath. If his mother got a whiff of how nice it smells, he is definitely get a beating later on tonight. Making sure to keep his mouth closed, he went to his bedroom to pick up the banana his mother always leaves on his bedside table for breakfast, and headed outside the house.

 

He looked at his banana and focused on the brown parts, pretending they were chocolate as he guzzled it up while walking to look for his uncle’s car. Uncle Lothan is sooooooooo rich! He thought, Mama said that his Corolla cost sooooooooo much money! And that he’s sooooooo lucky that he got to marry a Kuwaiti woman. Mama says we should be Kuwaiti. I know we aren’t Kuwaiti because they don’t pay to see the doctor like we do. I don’t know what we are. We live in Kuwait, doesn’t that make us Kuwaiti? I don’t know. Maybe Baba knew how to be Kuwaiti. Mama said that Baba died from Saddam. Since Saddam killed Baba, Baba couldn’t tell Mama the secret of how to be Kuwaiti and it died with him. Maybe even Saddam wanted to be Kuwaiti and that’s why he killed Baba! To get the secret! I bet Baba was strong. I am sure he killed so many men! Mama is too busy and angry to try and make us Kuwaiti anyway. I hate Mama, she is always sad and angry, and all she cares about is making sure we make money so Nasser doesn’t die. It’s not my fault Nasser has cancer, is it? I wish Baba was alive. Baba would give me chocolate, I’m sure! Maybe one day I will be like Baba and I will know how to become Kuwaiti, then I will make Nasser Kuwaiti and his cancer will go away! Where is Uncle Lothan anyway? He isn’t even here yet, she really didn’t have to wake me up so early and ruin my dream. I really want chocolate. Where is Uncle Lothan? He’s never late. Today is going to be different because he is late.

 

His train of thought came to a halt when he saw his uncle’s shiny new silver Corolla park next to him. “Hi Uncle Lo!” He said, giving him a toothful smile. “Where are we going today?”

 

“We’re going to Salmiya.”

 

“Ugh,” Abdulrahman hated working in Salmiya. The people were so rude and the cars went by so fast. “Can we at least go to the one near the supermarket? The bathroom will be close by.”

 

“Sure, son. Now look in the back, you need to sell thirty lights today. Can you do that?”

 

“It’s really hard to sell that many in Salmiya,” he looked at his uncle with a frown on his face. “They never want to buy them!”

 

“Just try.”

 

“Ok.” The rest of the car ride was spent in complete and utter silence. Salmiya. People pass red lights all the time in Salmiya. I don’t know why they don’t see me. It’s as if I don’t exist. They only see me when I knock on their car windows. And even then, they brush me off because they don’t want lights. Some people are nice though, they give me extra money, and they don’t even take a light! They just give me it, I don’t know why they don’t want the lights. It’s shiny! I wish they saw me. But to them, I’m part of the street. Maybe they got used to seeing kids like me.

 

It was now ten o’clock in the morning and it took them two hours to reach the traffic light. “I will come pick you up by this same traffic light at 11 o’clock at night. Here is half a dinar, go to the supermarket when you get hungry and buy yourself something to eat.”

 

Abdulrahman stopped listening to him as soon as he saw the money, his mind got preoccupied with all the chocolate he could buy. He gave his uncle a hug for being so generous and went to pick up the lights from the back seat. Should I go buy the chocolate now or keep it for later? If I buy all of it now it will melt in my pocket. So maybe I should just buy one chocolate now. Hmmm, which one do I want? He thought back to his dream and knew exactly what he wanted to buy, Maltesers! Waves of excitement hit him so hard, I knew today would be different! I knew it!

 

His uncle would get him in trouble if he knew that he was going to go buy the chocolate now instead of waiting. So he stood in place just long enough for his uncle to be gone while waving good-bye to him. He quickly looked at the traffic light to confirm that it is red and began to cross the wide street. His mouth watered as he thought about how full he was going to be in a matter of minutes, so he started walking a little faster.

 

The next thing he could hear was a car horn blasting loudly, but Abdulrahman had gotten very used to being honked at during the past year. Why is the car horn getting louder? Is the car getting closer? He looked to his right as quickly as he could but all he was faced with were the headlights of an SUV.

 

Abdulrahman Mit’eb, 8 years old, was pronounced dead on the scene.

Waves #LifeIsBetterInBoardShorts by Bader Shehab

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It cried and rhymed with these southerly winds, as Hajar and I, sat on those rocks, overlooking the slow, sporadic, sudden and at once subtle motion of the Atlantic sway. It soothed and cleansed my lungs of every air molecule as I, on every diatonic hole, exhaled the tunes of worrisome melodies of which, as though, seemed to harmonize and remedy with the violent claps of nature’s force against those moss and limestone.

We sat upon for an hour or two, as I eased off the harmonica tunes to listen in carefully over the fierce winds the 20-minute interval of weather radio update. “It ought to blow east any minute now” stated Hajar, as her silken of yarns of hairs blew back and forth in reaction to the winds. She looked out to the farthest horizons and continued. “I can’t wait to get out there!” I nodded in agreement, flipped my board over and placed it square on my thighs. I took a handful of wax and applied it on the smooth, shining deck of the board, as I proceeded with my normal surf routine rituals the weather radio sounded off. “Temperatures at a clear and cool 19 degrees centigrade, Easterly winds approaching at 28 km/h, ground swell at 240 meters offshore, wind swell at 12 feet heading south east off Devil’s rock coast, Agadir, low tides at 4:38 pm. Surf away!” Hajar glared back at me as she stood and zipped her lycra wetsuit up to her neck, at this point my heart pumped up a notch, all I hear and see at that point are roars and blues, to the far west one click out, upon whites of descending and perfectly orderly waves.

We found our ways down these slippery sharp rocks carefully while negotiating the balance of our precious surf boards, and atop the last rock fighting for dear life against the approaching tides, we’d hug our boards chest high and jump with one spring. We are met with cold, ocean salt water, as if toying with us in its majestic mercy as though in god’s hands we trespassed and in him we trusted, time and time again, with nothing but ply board-cut decks and bodies merely covered by the thinnest layer of nylon film or sometimes just board shorts. We paddled and paddled, and as the weather radio predicted correctly, counter winds suddenly appeared and we felt the water level under us, dilating to the atmospheric change and almost tuning visibly to the under swell that is bound to shake this coast to a surf spot. I looked over my shoulder and I saw more shapes and patterns of colors appear upon numerous surf boards above the heads of running surfers eager to paddle out and ride nature’s ferry wheel. As though the ice cream parlor drove by, a sense kicks in to the wanting of getting out there upon these limitless boundaries of Oceanic jungles. “How far out?” Hajar looked back at me with the excited look and glare she gets before she surfs. “About 100 more meters out to this way” I replied as I pointed to the south, a deviation of direction, so we can meet the swell just right on the spot.

We sat up on our boards after long paddles after paddles, shoulders sore and muscles already strained, but it pays off so beautifully, once you lay your eyes on that swell formation, tide change, the tail heading and the perfect tip aligning to the wave’s broad body spreading from coast to coast, increasing in speed and hollow pipeline set up, just perfect enough to surf, she is ripe and ready for a ride! “This one is yours Hajar!” she nodded at me and proceeded to paddle and paddle, catching up to the topmost edge of the wave, dropping in perfect glide to its body and surfing it ever so perfectly with textbook technique. She disappeared as I dove beneath the swell, and dipped my first wave off. Submerged, on the other hand, is another world. A top I eyed the cloud-like movement of the wave as it rolled away, so very quiet I could nearly hear my heart beat slow down, my lung capacity can last me 4 to 5 minutes, but if I’m calm and collected, I think I could stay down here a long while amongst the darks of these ocean floors. The buoyancy of my surfboard compels me to resurface and as I do so, I am met by another large swell, after swell forming graciously together and easing the tide for another larger wave.

I bodied my board as fast as I can and paddled against the tides, with one hand I paddled and the other I placed near my thigh the other one did the same as soon as the board was parallel to the rising tail, I felt the wave begin to pick me up and nearly flip me, but I counter her power with my weight as I stood on the well-waxed surface and took full balance square center, I’d use my back foot to steer, the tip seemed to wash off the board in reaction to my presence, a spray of salt water tackling my eye and taste buds, I’d grab a handful and wash my face. And here I was, in harmony and remedy with the ocean, time and time again. Waves slapped me around here and there, but nonetheless, I got up again and again. Swells of bodies of rushing water, barreled and formed a pipeline of a shape in accelerating, near-shore waters. But I got out the other side, with a scrape or two, but without a doubt I have. Hajar envied my surf exits so much so, that we spent that full day to sunset’s demise instructing and teaching her how to finish a surf perfectly, as she always had the habit of slipping or falling off the board when these deep ocean groundswell waves approach the coast and increase speed, which causes them to form into a circular, long pipe-like shape; which trick even the most experienced of surfers.

But she’s a fast learner, picks up things quickly on the sport and I am but a wave-shy of asking her out. “I really had fun today, thanks for bringing me out here!” she exclaimed and recalled what a day it was, as her hazel eyes glanced back at the setting sun off the Moroccan coast with passion, while the tides eased off in a westerly direction as if waving us goodbye. I inhaled as much I could and muttered with feigned confidence “Was wondering, if you’re free tonight, we could, you know… grab a drink or bite to eat, whatever you want, I mean…there’s this nice sea food place by the…” I slowed down as she fixated her eyes upon mine, and I was instantly lost in hers, she then broke into a small chuckle, the orange skies seemed to compliment her blushing cheeks, she carefully uttered a “yes, sure…” while scanning her feet dipped in the sand.              

Waves by Merriam AlFuhaid

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Liquid pools beneath my skull

Clear to the touch

With a taste of blood

Am I awake?

I’ve been baptized and revived

They tell me I am born again

That my old life had to die.

But I am alive

Just gutted

My voice drowned in the desert sea

My skin wrung out in the sun to dry

Or die

But no more salty tears for me

Can’t you see?

I’m perfect now

Everything you wanted me to be

An empty shell

Prepared to let you forget

What you can’t understand

That every pearl you covet so

Came from a grain of sand.

 

But instead you disturb the surface of the water

To make me a mirror

Of all you think you are

And you succeed

Because I want to break free

But I am nothing

If you’re not smiling into me.

Are you satisfied?

The waves have done their job

And every pore of me is pure

My once sweaty palms are clean

I will never want what I shouldn’t want ever again

I will never dream another improper dream

Never have another disrespectful word to say

Are you happy now?

You’ve washed my soul away.

Waves by Tifa

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Four years riding a wave of love: that’s what it was like, being with you. The highs were high, but the lows pulled me down, down, down: drowning.

Four years: a lifetime, it seems. But now you are out of my life. The waters have calmed and I the sea is peaceful, inviting. Gentle rolling waves beckon. No more highs, no more lows. No more you.

Four years: some might say I gave up. Did I? Not I. I, who would stand by your side, always loyal, always there. I did not see that I was the strong one all along.

When the waves began to frighten me with their power, to pull me under so that I lost my footing, my balance, my sanity: then I saw the truth. It was not that I did not care about you. You did not care: About yourself. About me. I knew then that I would be left to ride the waves alone, and that is not how I want to live my life.

Waves: from a distance, so beautiful, so powerful, so appealing! I wanted to ride them with you. But that same power and beauty turned out to be deceptive. Waves are dangerous. Beguiling. If you cannot trust your partner, you are safer to ride them alone. One false step is one too many: it took me four years to learn this.

Oh, you would say, we are together, we are one. But I began to see that you were on your own path. I could come along, but in the end you would leave me in your wake. I gave. You took. I believed in you, in us. You believed too – in you.

Four years: how does this happen? How does a love built on solid ground become an unstable ride on dark, icy seas? How does love turn to treachery? How did this happen to us? To me? What did I not see?

Four years: in the beginning, you made me whole. You taught me how to shine. You found my best parts and taught me how to use them. Then you used me. But you also taught me to believe in myself, and soon I did. In the end, this saved me from the plunge into uncertain icy waters, into darkness, into the abyss.

Four years: how, after you had made me whole, made me love you and made me believe I loved myself, how did it come to this?

Each wave was a hazardous ride. The exhilaration of riding side by side with you had once strengthened me; somehow, this turned into fear. Instead of joy, there was terror. You were riding the wave alone, after all. I thought you were my safety net. More often than not, I was yours.

Four years: they seem like a lifetime. But my life is not over yet. I can face the seas alone now, knowing that I am strong enough to master them myself. The white foamy sea, the powerful tug of the universe, the ability to ride things out and remain standing and victorious: these are now mine.

When I choose to let someone else into my life, I will be wiser. All because of four years

Four years with you.

Waves by Berlin

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If all the studies I’ve read are true then you must be hearing me now.

I hate you.

We spent the last few weeks talking…

reminiscing…

laughing

and now here I am listening to your parents debate whether to pull the plug or not.

“He had fought enough”, your mom said.

“3 years of that much pain is enough”, she continued.

3 years.

3… years?

This is probably not the best time to make this about me, and I know you despise how I tend to do that… but 3 years?

How could you have kept this from me?

How could you have wasted so many days listening to me blabber about people you haven’t even met?

How could you have let me bore you with stories about work?

How could you have let me go on and on about my non-existent love life?…

When we should have talked about this.

About YOU.

How could you have not said anything, knowing that every goodbye might have been the last?

I wouldn’t have known what to do,

I wouldn’t have had the solutions

But I would have been there for you.

Really there for you.

I would have held your hand.

I would have carried you if you needed me to.

I would have traded smiles for your tears.

I would have been…

A friend.

Why didn’t you give me that chance?

We shared the best, the worst and the ugliest; how could you have thought this wasn’t worth sharing?

You were struggling.

You were in pain.

You were fighting for your life.

You were dying goddammit!

“He didn’t want you to worry” your mom comforted me.

“When the time came, he asked me to apologize to his friends for…”

“Dying?” I asked without thinking.

She smiled wryly.

“Dying” she nodded and watched you with her tired bloodshot eyes.

I had to blink back the tears.

If your friendship is any indication,

then I can only imagine how hurt she must be to be losing her son.

Come back, please?

I swear I will not bother you with my usual nonsense.

I will not even complain about your singing, no matter how excruciating I think your voice is.

I will listen to it all day if I have to.

Come back.

Sing.

Tease me about my weight, about my inexplicable fondness of skinny jeans.

Irritate me with your unsolicited opinions on my dating habits.

Berate me with silly questions that you so love asking.

Force me to laugh at your old corny jokes.

Just… come back.

Be… you again.

“He was so scared to be seen like this you know? It’s not the way he wanted to be remembered.” Your dad explained, wiping an invisible tear from your cheek.

I just nodded.

My eyes were fixed on your pale face.

On your cheekbones that used to be a lot plumper.

On your dry chapped lips.

Staring at you, all I could think of was your laughter.

It’s distinct sound.

The way it makes your eyes crinkle on the sides.

The way it makes your mouth occupy half of your face.

The way you turn into a 10-year old each time you found something funny.

You see?

You were wrong…

I’m staring at you now and I am telling you, you have nothing to fear because no one will remember you as this sick little person.

You will never be reduced to being just your disease.

You LIVED!

You were someone’s wonderful son.

You were someone’s great love.

You were someone’s best friend…

You…

You were my brother.

You are.

I love you.

I just wish I showed you more often, or when it really mattered.

I should have been there for you.

I’m sorry for assuming we had forever.

“It’s time”, your mom told me.

We stared at each other for a moment and collapsed into each other’s arms.

Your dad pulled us aside to make way for the medical team.

“Remember him” your dad pleaded, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I will never learn how not to” I assured him.

They say brain waves surge moments before death.

If that is true, then there’s no better time to tell you this…

I.

WE.

Will never forget.

Waves by Lucy Moore

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Waves or An open letter to Nutella or 9 reasons I hate you, I love you, hate, love, hate, love you…

To my smooth, chocolaty friend

1 – The very sight of your jar can bring a smile to the most bitter of men but I know under that glossy exterior is a dark and sinister side to you

2 – No matter how hard I try I can’t stay away from you, you’re my hearts friend yet the sworn enemy of my tummy

and 3 – I thought you were not good enough for me, however, you’re made of nuts which are brain food, milk to give me calcium and chocolate… derived from cocoa, which grows on a tree which kind of makes you like salad

4 -It has been 48 and a half minutes since we parted ways. And when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder they are not lying. Because I’m already craving to have you back in my sight. but I’ve seen you reduce grown men to a whimpering mess, when after finishing off a jar of you they’re left craving more

5 – You’re one part friend who listens to my problems, one part study buddy because for each page I allow myself a spoon and two parts evil diet foe

6 – I smother you on to freshly baked, buttery bread and you ooze into the cracks, dribble down my fingers and I shudder as waves of guilt, oh no wait that’s pleasure run through down my torso

7 – You are wickedly addictive, even the most unfaithful follow your heavenly cult and like a demigod we give you pride of place in our kitchen shrine

8 – You go with anything, pancakes, waffles, in pudding, on pudding, fruit, cookies, brookies, brownies. I can find you everywhere, I cannot escape you as your whore yourself around every desert menu in the country

9 – I could spread you anywhere which is proving difficult to explain when I’m out in public…

Noah by Kamanha

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

In my birth certificate…they never mentioned what it takes

To get an interview for a job of misery and higher stakes

Speaking of stakes…I wonder what that beefy bitch is doing today

“the worst leech”? Bitch, please…ease…let’s rewind and replay

Hi all I’m Noah and fuck you, by the way

I don’t mean to insult you but it’s just what my family never taught me not to like to say

Let me walk you through, you see, I’m a strip club emcee

And being 43, accused of murder of the 3rd degree, with no son or daughter don’t mean shit to me

My wife left me because I’m a pathetic idiot

To think it was a good idea to cheat on her on her period

But it’s only because I wanted to change the club’s name to “the ark”, but I couldn’t convince the owner

So I seduced his wife…I played catch with the bitch, I threw her a boner

Just to be called “Noah of the ARK” an idea done when I’m drunk and thought of when I was sober

I must be sick…And an ambulance just pulled me over

Don’t blame a man who works at a place where everyone’s got an IQ of a retarded squirrel tricked by monopoly dollars

Damn, I see zombies dancing and racing for money, I call them Pole Walkers

So, I’m not sure why my wife got mad when I said she’s just a “hole”…I dig her

I need a shrink because, you know, I don’t want it to get any bigger

I always stand corrected and then I usually sit angered and irritated

Throughout my life, I kept wondering… What if I got well-educated things would’ve surely been alternated

My inaniloquence would’ve been blemished, no encumbrance to stay up through the Twelfth Night

And grandiloquently quote Macbeth

I wonder if my life would’ve been an opalescent and to put it pauciloquently flee the truculent

oubliette of my living death

Maybe I could’ve written a surreal poem for my wife and with originality and delightful verbal freshness draw asunder

the curtains hiding my disdained sordid tears

Or appeased to be an oculist and have children in a cleaner sty. Or maybe write an embellished panegyric as the

best man to eradicate my best friend’s -that I could’ve had by the way- fears

Or maybe a megalomaniacal and a maladroit control-freak, the worst critique of the antique land of the derelict

and the vociferous

Would I have been deleterious or innocuous? Would I gnathonize the devil in distress

or instead, admonish the empyrean for his bliss

But then again, I’m not sure who I would’ve been, either way; it’s not my place to meddle

In this hoosegow where our integrity sells for so little

Birds cry and flowers wizen suns fly and a chance for darkness is given

Words lost, destinies forgotten and eyes shut, no visage of the world I live in

And from within the depth I hear a crescendo of a lonesome clown’s laughter

haha somewhere deep down here, there could be a cure for cancer

But, too bad, Noah. Your ark sunk you so deep, sailor. Wished you can see what I can see

But tonight I, your “would’ve and could’ve been”, will sleep and tomorrow you’ll wake up to go on being

The horny people’s filthy MC.

Noah by Merriam AlFuhaid

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

            People who didn’t know Noah laughed at him if he complained about his job. “Someone pays you to introduce strippers? Pays you? What a hard job you have,” they would say, and then five minutes later they’d realize they made a pun and start cracking up, and Noah would fantasize about putting stilettos through their foreheads.

People who knew him better said, “Why don’t you leave?” He would fumble on his words in reply, usually muttering, “It’s not that easy,” maybe throwing in a sentence or two about how the strippers were like his family. A family who knew what he was. “You’re just like one of the girls,” Lilith, the one he was closest to, would say.

But he couldn’t help but think, every time she passed by, Not quite. Not the way it matters.

He saw the way they looked at her. The glittering lights and loud music never distracted Noah from the expressions on their faces, particularly not those of the man in front who came every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. He sat alone in the same chair by the stage, his ice blue eyes veiled by a haze of cigarette smoke, his chiseled lips emotionless above his square jaw. He never brought friends. Noah wondered if he had any. He wondered a lot about this man, but all Noah really knew was that he never came unless Lilith was working, that he always came when Lilith was working, and that his name was Nick.

And that she had slept with him once. Lilith thought he would ask her again because he seemed rich enough to afford it. She would know. Half of her income came from him.

“Do you ever think about love?” Noah had asked her.

Love? The question had danced on the surface of her round blue eyes like the distorted image on the back of a spoon. No, she’d said. She wasn’t interested in love. She was sick of men who cared far too much about controlling women and nothing about controlling themselves.

She was smart. Nick probably liked that.

Yes, he liked and got the very best; it was apparent in the brand of the coat slung over the back of his chair, in the cigarettes he smoked, the drinks he ordered, his always shined shoes, his Ritz privilege card that peeked out whenever he opened his Gucci wallet, his belt that looked as though extra holes had been punched in it for a perfect fit…

People changed their minds. Noah knew this, and he could see in his own mind the image of them together, Lilith running her fingertips down Nick’s chest and over his face, not for the money but because she wanted to. Noah knew she had the option. If she took it, it would be the best thing that ever happened to her.

You’re supposed to want good things to happen to people you care about, right?

Noah’s real friends, the ones who knew, realized he wasn’t leaving his job and said “It can’t be healthy, keeping this bottled up inside.”

Get it off your chest. Tell. You never know.

            But you do know, Noah thought. When you see the way his eyes run up and down her body, over every unmistakably feminine curve, when you can almost hear his pulse quicken with every lacy layer she drops to the floor, you do know. There is no point in saying anything. You know he’s never going to love you.                   

Noah by Dina Al-Awadhi

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

Noah was old. His beard was greying and his eyes, which had once seemed so alive, now carried a glassy look. He was growing painfully stiff all over and the Noah could barely bend over when he dropped a book or a pen or anything.

Looks wise he was certainly aging well however. His ever-present smile was more than charming and Noah’s slim almost unnatural physique still got him more than one side eye and wink.

One would think that at such an age, Noah would have finally retired, settled at home and lived the rest of his days in peace and quiet.

But Noah loved his job.

Yes, he loved his job.

Every night, the club would open up, flickering lights blinking and flashing, drawing in the late nighters like drunken flies to oozing honey.

Every night, the seats would be filled with eager eyes, dry mouths, and twitching fingers.

And every night, the lights would dim low, and the audience would collectively inhale as Noah would take the stage.

And then a stillness would take over the theatre, for Noah was the MC of the most important, spectacular show in the world.

He would walk up to the spotlight and he would only have to say his famous line and then the music would start, and the show would begin:

“Welcome one, welcome all to The Most Important, Spectacular Show in The World!”

“Here comes Baby Baby…” so named for her interesting choice of outfit. “So beautiful, so pure,” her shining complexion and large Amazonian body striped in highlighted rainbow paint were a point of reverence for many of the audience. It might also have been the fact that she was only wearing a cotton pair of knickers. Regardless, Baby Baby swayed like a goddess to a classic Britney Spears song with more than excitable dance moves. The applause was deafening.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Tinkerbell.” And so the twirling ballerina would grace the stage. She was one of the heavier ones, filled out and luscious, and her pink tutu barely covered anything of her silvery complexion. She pirouetted to a dubstep remix of Swan Lake in manner that would have made her old ballet instructor faint. But the crowds were gasping in delight, throwing roses upon roses and scribbled numbers onto the stage.

“And next we have Barbara and the Jets,” the blonde girls who always came out in full on makeup and several states of undress. A missing top there, mismatching shoes here, and that one seems to have forgone everything in favor of a gentleman’s large shirt. They twirled and danced to their favorite Elton John song in ways even a ventriloquist would gasp at. And the audience was going wild.

When the girls finally left the stage amidst an uproar of encores and declarations of love, the crowd would die down again waiting for Noah to announce the next performer, but he didn’t have to say anything except one word: “Ted.” The crowd grew still, so still as the beautiful, dark skinned man walked onto stage wearing only a see-through-

“Young Lady! Are you still up?”

The little girl’s eyes widened. She shut off her flashlight and scrambled into bed just as the door to her bedroom cracked open. The hallway lamps cast a warm light over the girl’s bed as she feigned sleep, and her mother quietly entered the room.

She kissed her child goodnight and drew up the bed sheets to the young girl’s chin, but not before placing her favorite dolls and toys around her: a Baby Doll colored all over with markers, a stuffed elephant in a tutu, three half-naked Barbies, a teddy bear, and her brother’s old favorite toy soldier: Commander Noah.

Noah by Taiba Al-Otaibi

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

I wear a red bandana, play a cool pianna In a honky-tonk, down in Mexico I wear a purple sash, and a black mustache In a honky-tonk, down in Mexico (The Coasters – Down in Mexico)

First born unicorn Hard core, soft porn Dreaming of Californication (Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication)

(The Heavy – Short Change Hero)

And they’re thinking: A beautiful face And a wicked way And I’m paying for her Beautiful face every day All that work

Over so much time If I think too hard I might lose my mind (The Black Keys – Next Girl)

‘Cause she’s a super freak, super freaky. (Rick James – Superfreak) Her body singing ‘Let me entertain you’ (Robbie Williams – Let Me Entertain You)

Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this chemistry Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this blasphemy (The Heavy – What Makes A Good Man)

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous So here we are now, entertain us (Nirvana – Smells like Teen Spirit)

Now she’s naked, nothing but an animal But can she fake it, for just one more show? (Smashing Pumpkins – Bullet with Butterfly Wings)

‘Every demon wants his pound of flesh But I like to keep some things to myself I like to keep my issues drawn It’s always darkest before the dawn.

So she…shakes it out, shakes it out, shakes it out, shakes it out.’ (Florence + Machines – Shake it Out) Waitin’, watchin’ the clock, it’s four o’clock, it’s got to stop. (Pearl Jam – Better Man)

Don’t call her daughter, not fit to be. The picture kept will remind me. Don’t call her daughter, Don’t call her…

The shades go down The shades go down (Pearl Jam – Daughter)

And I’m stuck (The Heavy – Stuck)

This ain’t no place for no hero

This ain’t no place for no better man

And ‘doin’ things just to please her crowd’

(The Heavy – Short Change Hero)

Noah by Hawra’a Khalfan

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

You will find it here, and when you see it beside this piece of paper your instinct will tell you to check for a pulse. There won’t be a pulse. You will realize that quickly but you will still reach in and try to find one. Your next instinct will be that of any other “civilized” human being. Like clockwork you will call the government officials to come and rid world of it. This letter will make it easier for them. This letter will do their job for them.

Nobody will claim it. Nobody will even know the name of the person who lived in the shell that was left behind.

Nobody will realize that I am gone. I haven’t made a difference. I am nobody, and this nobody has done nothing.

I am pouring all my thoughts at this very moment on this piece of paper because I want to have one last human interaction. Ironically, this human interaction will take place after I am gone. I still want to show the world how it feels. I still want to share it all with somebody. I want to tell them why.  I want to tell them why.

In movies, or television shows, or even in books- the note that is left behind normally just reeks of regret. I regret nothing. I merely have an explanation. This, is why;

I have a name, but not even the people I work with know it. I am Noah. Noah, the unsettling man who lives in the basement under the lobby at the Scythe Motel.  Noah, the man who will not be forgotten, as he was never remembered. I am Noah, and I am forty-nine years old.

I am Noah, a forty-nine year old man who had many dreams. I am Noah, the forty-nine year old man who managed to shatter any flicker of hope he ever had.

This body I leave behind will burden you, and for that I apologize. I have never stopped to ask your name, valued janitor. Nevertheless, you and I will have had the most human connection of all. You and I will have shared Death.

Nobody will claim this body or come to it’s funeral. I feel as though I should put down my reasons and last thoughts on this paper as I have never dared to share myself with another, before this.

You see, I was going to be an English teacher, yet the world moved on a pace different than mine. I knew I had everything it takes to become the teacher I wanted to be. I wanted to make a difference, but that was not in my fate. Stating that I merely wanted it, is not good enough on it’s own. But I did- I wanted all of it.

The funny thing about goals is that if you loose track of your most important one, it is nothing but a downwards spiral from there. I ended up working as a security guard in a school nearby, and that is how I met Marrian. Marrian grew and sold wheat grass down on a farm with her mother, and every Saturday she would come to the school and drop off some wheatgrass for the upcoming week to be used in the cafeteria. Marrian was a godsend. She was it- the woman of my dreams and I was convinced that I would never find another woman who was as kind, or beautiful. She was a simple girl but had the most infuriating sense of humor (which was my favorite thing about her). I wish I told her. I wish I told her. I wish I told her of my love for her, but wishes don’t mean a thing anymore, and this is not a letter of regret. This will not be turned into a letter of regret but of hope-

Marrian, you have been gone a long time, but I will join you now. I have thought of you so often. There is never a moment when you are not on my mind. There is never a moment when what we could have been was not on my mind.

I don’t remember much after Marrian’s death, the routine was slowly attacking my brain cells one by one and I went with it. I did not want to think of anything but her. I could not think of anything but her.

I later found myself working at a place much like a slaughterhouse. My job was to announce which ‘fresh meat’ was going to come up on stage.  I was told that the women I work with are beautiful, but I could not see their beauty. I constantly looked for it- but all these men came to the slaughterhouse and left it reeking of fresh meat. I could not see beyond the actions of these men and women to be able to take in their physical beauty. I did not understand the whole system, I merely went there to be able to make money, and to survive.

Survival was important to me, and I have survived long enough. How marvelous is it how much a human being can change given some time?

Today, I can say that I am a man who has been dying slowly for twelve years. I will no longer waste oxygen. I will rid you all of me. Today, I can happily say;

I am gone.

Noah by Berlin

By Posted in Berlin, Noah, Poetry Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

“Not in this lifetime” she told him.
Middle-aged and struggling is not her type.
He smiled and told her gently “Forty five is all the hype”

She thought she told him clearly and that he would finally stop
She didn’t know that Noah was not someone who gives up.

Each night he fell deeper as he quietly watched her dance
He wondered what he can do to finally get his chance

He faked a smile every time he introduced her to the crowd
How, he wondered, could he say these things out loud?
The words printed on his cards are not what he would’ve chosen
He would never dare refer to her as a bleeping sexy vixen.

A stripping goddess she was known as, but that’s not what he wanted.
All he needed from her was to be a different kind of naked

The kind where all defenses are dropped.
Where pretending she is strong can finally be stopped.
He wanted to take care of her, make her feel secure.
Let her know that money is not always the cure.

He continued treating her special, did everything to make her laugh.
He figured all the affection will eventually be enough.

Time went by and she started to see
The man he was and wanted to be.
She saw him in a different light and decided it was time to make it right

“I have something to tell you” she whispered in his ear.
He had to check twice if he heard it clear.
She kissed him and told him to meet her after the show.
He could not be mistaken she had that certain glow.

He walked around all night gleaming with pride.
That was until she screamed and cried.
A man had a little too much to drink.
Crossed the line and forgot to think.

He slapped her when she said no.
Threw money at her and called her a ho.
Noah grabbed and punched the man
That was when he drew his gun

He pointed it at Noah whose arms went up.
But the man was possessed by the devil’s cup.
He pulled the trigger without any hesitation.
While everyone flew the perilous commotion.

She ran to Noah and cradled him in her arm.
“Maybe next lifetime?” He asked with all his charm.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
That was when she realized.

“Don’t you dare Noah!
Don’t you dare let go!
This is not how it ends
There’s still something you should know!

I love you Noah
How could you leave me now?
I chose you Noah
Tonight was my last bow”

She held his lifeless body for a moment longer.
Enumerated the ways she could have made it better.
The longer she stayed at the spot where he was slain,
the more she was convinced she would never dance again.

Noah by Fatma AlSumaiti

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

Day: Tuesday, November 28th.

Time: Moments before daylight arrived.

Scene: Gypsy.

The stage was an entire universe when she stepped onto it. My heart cracked open when I saw those riotous thighs flirt with music.

Purple. Everything was purple. The lights, the air.. her skin. My green eyes turned into night as they danced on her body. 23 years I’d been in charge of that place. No creature had ever annihilated the crowds, and myself, like Gypsy.

The way her hands traced her body was treacherous.

The arch of her back screamed to be carved with kisses.

How her waist turned the music into art. Brush strokes plagued with insanity. Damn.

And those legs.. Oh honey, they spoke a language that liquefied your insides.

She wrapped herself around that pole like a vicious purple snake. Every night I yearned to be that metallic purple pole.

She saw me haunting her with my gaze. She felt what I was feeling. I knew she did because those glistening dark eyes spoke to my desires.

I needed a plan.

Day: Tuesday, December 16th.

Time: Moments before daylight arrived.

Scene: Gypsy.

Fire ate its way through my insides. It was burning. It was suffocating. It was so purple. I couldn’t wait any longer. My darkness was wilder than ever.

My burning purple fire needed to be fed.

Day: Friday, December 19th.

Time: Daylight had just arrived.

Scene: Gypsy.

I walked barefoot that day. The stage had never looked so mesmerizing. So warm. My feet sunk into opaque RED that used to inhabit her veins. With every step I felt my soul come to life. The smell, so sweet it carried Gypsy with it into my pores.

I lay down next to Gypsy on that warm RED stage. Resting my cheek on that RED floor, I faced her RED eyes. She had never looked so alive. Laying there, bathed in RED. So still. So beautiful. So RED.

Noah by Dee

By Posted in Dee, Noah, Prose Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

 He fiddles nervously with the lit cigarette, knowing he had to take a puff of it soon for appearance’s sake. He tried to inhale as little of it as possible but he is still uncomfortable with all those carcinogens hanging out in his mouth. Noah was on the wrong side of fifty to be taking stupid risks, but cigarette breaks were the only excuse he could think of to escape the insanity inside the club for a few minutes. So he tried to breathe in as little smoke as possible while enjoying the peace and quiet of a dark alley smelling comfortingly of stale cabbage.

He runs his tongue against his back teeth, trying to drive away the memory of his fillings vibrating with the beat of the bass. It hung there in his mouth, a phantom itch that had quickly become part of the job. Two weeks now doing this and it hadn’t become any less ridiculous. But then the whole situation was ridiculous.

Not too long ago he was a husband, a father, a pillar of the community. Now he’s an emcee at a strip club in a no name town, shady enough to pay him in cash under the table, because credit cards are traceable and banks need real names. So he’s Noah now, because for all intents and purposes, his old life is under a few thousand feet of water. Unfortunately the god whose wrath had rained upon them was one that he’d personally pissed off.

He checks his watch then quickly puts out the cigarette before heading inside. Maybe I should invest in a pair of earplugs he muses as he’s hit with the noise of the club, so loud it’s an almost physical blow. He nods to some of the ‘talent’ waiting to go on as he makes his way to his booth, trying to keep it as professional as he can with so little clothing involved. He always thought that the whole stripper with daddy issues cliché was just that, a cliché. But he supposed clichés were there for a reason. So he kept it friendly but impersonal. Although playing it distant was probably not the best choice when it came to making some of these young women lose interest.

He makes it to the relative safety of his booth, nods a quick thanks to the waitress who serves him a fresh drink. Boozing at work took a little getting used to, although he supposes it’s expected of any grown man who’s effectively run away from home. He pulls the mic closer to introduce Cherrie Blossom to the stage, cringing at the racist undertones. As he observes Grace make her way to the stage, barely recognizable underneath the geisha inspired get up, he wonders if anyone cares that the scantily clad girl was actually Korean. He sighs to himself as he watches racist undertones quickly turn into overtones. I used to be an accountant he thinks to himself. At least I found a line of work less likely to damn my soul to hell.

Noah by Noragotcharisma

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

Life has a funny way of changing you. You could be living life in red, like those red lights that scream sin accompanied by loud sinful music. But all the sudden, you stumble on something, so unexpectedly and it makes you evolve to the point where you can no longer stand the sight of those red lights.

That’s kinda what was happening with Noah. He had spent thirty-eight years living this life he was given, unhappy but unable to figure out why. He knew there was more to just giving into hedonistic desires, specifically ones that revolved around the birds and the bees. He grew immune to all that lust; exposed flesh just didn’t do it for him anymore. He often wondered if he was being punished, by having his manhood taken away, by not being able to feel anything.

He recalled once making conversation with one particularly rich customer, an Arab man who loved leading this double life of religious man and Don Juan. Noah was never particularly interested in customers, but this man had this aura about him. His warm toned skin and shiny black hair—the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

Ironically, the man appeared to know so much about the history of his name, Noah. He told him that in Islam, Noah was a prophet, a Godsend that encouraged his people for nine hundred and fifty years and warned them about the afterlife. How God had instructed him to save a pair of every living creature, enough to rebuild the world once the flood swallowed it

That was the moment that changed it all. As if it was the cherry on top to make him walk away, feeling guilt for holding such a holy name, but throwing it to the ground.

Noah quit Arch and never looked back.

Noah by Tifa

By Posted in Noah, Prose, Tifa Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

I have a rare full night of sleep in me, and somewhere to be. The late construction shifts had been starting to grate on me, making me feel like I was living in reverse, going to work when others were going to dinner, going home when people were waking up. I had jumped at the opportunity to take on a day shift, but I don’t know what to expect from this one.  I finally decided to quit one of my two jobs, I never really needed the money anymore since my wife died, but I liked being busy. When you’re busy you tend to forget to think about anything other than the job you’re doing. It also really helped that all of my jobs required me to be in loud spaces.

I sleepwalk through my bathroom and dressing routine, my eyes finally opening once I am on the bus.  And then there it is, the banner that has been hanging up for the last month “Sassy’s doing Breakfast, starting May 1st.  Steak and Eggs, 7am to 3pm.”  There is already smoke curling out of the kitchen vent, and the low thump of bass seeping through the walls.  The cook must have figured out how to turn on the stereo, the new system that I had told him to stay away from.  Playing his cousin’s death metal band.

He had made a pot of coffee, so I put off the lecture that he wouldn’t hear anyway.  Damn, if this wasn’t a loud system.  Clear, even sound in any corner of the place, bass that felt like each seat had its own subwoofer.  The mixing board was the shiniest thing in this place.  As soon as I turn off the cook’s playlist I see Liza on her stool behind the bar.

“Doors open in fifteen, Honey.  Turning the lights down in a few.”  I had never seen the place with the overhead lights on, much less Liza.  She was enough in the dark, a mountain of a woman with the grace and smile of a garbage truck.  The best bartender in the Tri-state area, Sassy’s arm-wrestling champ 7 years running, and a source of knowledge of all the things you don’t want to know.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” I try a happy greeting on a frowning Liza.

“I’m not your sweetheart, and if the girls don’t show soon you’re going to have your dancing debut.  Show me what a sweetheart is and finish mopping the stage.”  By finish mopping, she means start mopping.  The empty yellow bucket is already up on the stage.  I know the secret mop water recipe: cold water halfway up the side, two caps of bleach and half pint of beer.  The bleach takes care of what Liza so lovingly calls “stripper juice”, and the beer gives the floorboards a little traction and covers the bleach smell.  Another Liza-ism, “The only thing more suspicious than a smiling cop is a clean smelling strip club.”

Five minutes to open.  Shiny mirrors reflecting dim neon lights, hip-hop rumbling back to the sizzling stove full of beef, and an almost non-frowning bartender.  All we need is the talent.  The closer it gets to opening the more I feel she wasn’t joking about putting me on stage.

The front door opens, slicing a line of morning light through the dark room.  The figure in the door pauses, then walks towards me.  The door slams, my eyes adjust to the darkness again, and that’s where I lose it.  Kendra, my wife dead all these years, stands at the foot of the stage.  She looks just like the day I met her, brown hair hanging just over her big, deep eyes.  She’s here, finally here to take me away from my meaninglessness and misery.  I drop the mop, almost drop to the floor myself, and she smiles and says, “I’m Tequila, the new dancer. You alright?”

“Um, uh, yeah.  Yeah, fine.  Thought you were a ghost.”

“Ghost, huh?  I don’t know her.  Sounds like she works at one of those rocker strip clubs on the East side.  Think a girl can get a breakfast steak before I start dancing?”  I tell her I will ask if the cook is ready.  I point her to the dressing room and pick up the mop.  This breakfast shift is going to be weirder than I thought.

“Come on, Noah.” Liza is right behind me, reaching for the mop on the ground.  “Let’s finish polishing this turd.  Sassy’s is open for breakfast.”

Noah by Eva Al-Meshal

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

I’m not sure if every human being is granted this experience, or if it’s something that only happens once in every hundred-some-odd years, like those special comets that can be seen from the Earth at certain times. Whichever it is, it’s certainly something that a person can’t ever forget. When it happens, it feels almost like the first time you see the ocean (or some other grand design of nature). That’s how it was for me, at least.

It must have been about 20 years ago when I met him. It’s crazy how time flies, and how it has the ability to erase or engrave certain memories and experiences so pristinely. I can’t seem to remember not knowing him – or perhaps I choose not to – but everything before meeting him seems so blurry. In fact, meeting him and knowing him was all blurry. He was one of the most talented men I had ever met when it came to the art of blurriness, and yet, that’s what seemed to make any moments of clarity between us so precious. It’s funny how things play out like that.

His name was Noah, and he was an absolute mystery. He had this uncanny gift of being able to give off the vibe that you were the closest person to him in the whole world, even if you didn’t know him at all. His charms had this way of captivating and engaging all your senses at once, but he was irrevocably jaded. If you looked closely, you could see how his experiences had aged him way beyond his years – he was only 26 at the time, but his mind was just like a Rubik cube that one couldn’t resist trying to solve. Somehow, though, he was still able to fool his unsuspecting victims into playing with the string of hope he dangled in front of them nonchalantly. There was nothing and no one that was beyond his reach, and all the girls who still ached for him even after he had treated them like shit were proof that he could “have his cake and eat it too”. He was the precise recipe for a beautiful disaster of the heart, and it just so happened to be monsoon season in mine. It was horribly perfect and perfectly horrible timing, as it is with most stories that involve that stubbornly fixated organ we call the heart.

*To be continued…

Noah by Osman Naeem

By Posted in Noah, Osman Naeem, Poetry Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

The contents in a plate composed of a decomposing mashed potato hallucinogenic salad and carcinogenic beer stains that had soaked the velvet sheet which slipped off the bed onto the carpet
Oozed through the spaces between Noah’s toes as he took a step and walked butt naked with a limp towards the shower
Drunk on deep space dilemmas and the intense scent of lingerie that lingered through his nostrils and made its way to his brain
As a twist of the tap sent rusty water gushing down to replace the dirt he tried to scrub off from between the wrinkles on his face
He closed his eyes and held his breath as consciousness began to squeeze in alongside alcohol and nostalgia, it was his fortieth birthday
And drops of water met the redness that clotted inside the crack on the marble below, distorting the sound of the radio playing Bohemian Rhapsody
He pulled out a fragment of glass that he’d stepped on and blood rushed from a flooded head to the tip of his pinky toe
With every breath of air that he took in, he exhaled life and stared at his hands that now felt older as they began to melt

Well renowned for leaving his audience spell bound with just a click of the fingers at the speed of sound
Reliving each and every day that got him this far, unsure if he was witnessing his life flash before his eyes
Reminiscing the times he spent sleeping on abandoned hardwood floors with a jar of fireflies, being  a vagabond, being spat out and being all alone without a home
The struggles, the troubles, till his life was no longer monochrome and his guardian angel quit singing in a monotone
They said he was possessed and had to be exorcised, the deacon said his demons grew fat because they never exercised
So he eloped with the devil and the ones who raised him now hoped to hear him declared dead
He began dwelling in neon caves, calling out lioness cubs for applause and a loaf of meat to eat, in a place he called home territory just like a lion in the Serengeti
He made friends with the seven deadly sins, but they gave his life a purpose and gave him bigger wings
They rusted his cheek bones but made him smile and destined him to bigger things
To be seated on the throne of the forbidden kingdom, but etched on the heart, it was more than a symptom
How could being here be right? With all these pink thongs a dollar bill upsurge
To be in love with no one, and no reason to soul search
To have nothing to lose, and no reason to feel cornered
To be unsure of life being perfectly normal, and no fear of being bipolar
But as he stepped out to grab a towel no longer did he feel any older, he was all sober and the guilt trip was now over