Always hearts

I would love to write you a love song
but we both know i can't sing.
I would try and play the chords for you
but i never learned the damn thing.
I would buy you the ocean if i could
but god won't put it up for sale.
So i guess we'll just settle
for all the things that don't compare.

This paper ain't worth nothing
ain't worth air and shit, that's free.
I'll send it to you when you're away
on a postcard signed sincerely me.
And it won't have too many words.
Nothing fancy, something plain.
Something that'd put the earth to shame.
A couple phrases here and there
just to humor you and let you know I'm well aware
you're gone and sure I'm down
but when you come back remember I'll still be around.

This is no poem this is no song
this is no story short or long.
this is no end, this is no start.
But always hearts.
There's always hearts.

Gather round

I am posting a complaint to blogger.
Shocker?
Let's hope so, makes it more interesting i do say.

Ahem,

Dear Blogger and company (yes i am a class act),

I would formally like to phrase a complaint.
Your commenting settings give me the option
of disabling or enabling my comments.

Well, they're are enabled. Yet
i receive several emails regarding my comments
section NOT working.

Leaving me with the conclusion that well,

YOUR MAINTENANCE STAFF AND/OR
LAYOUT TOOLS SUCK MOTHER FUCKING
BALLS.

That was harsh. But it bothers me.
Sorry Blogger. Sincerely.

-Liv.



next.


Dear Kellogg's Cereal Corp.,

Make something delicious again.
Please?

-Liv

Something's Missing.

A vacant lot that once held cars.
A universe that once hosted stars.
A living room with the couches gone.
Garden gnomes taken from the lawn.
A coffee cup with not a drop of brew.
A cooking pot that holds no stew.
This mall has not a store in sight
This is family park, no slides or kites.
A calender with no months to read
A garden with no flowers and trees.
A magic show with no magician
a concert with no fans to listen.
A writer's pen has lost it's ink
A philosopher who cannot think.
An ocean with no fish to swim
And a barber with no hair to trim.
This camera doesn't have a flash
This millionaire is out of cash.
A cowboy who's head wears no hat
A brand new film that has no cast.
See this angel? She has no wings.
See this idol? No song to sing.
Remember that girl?
You left her in tears.
You left her in heartbreak
in sadness and fear.
So now somethings missing
What is it? Oh, trust.
Oh, sanctity.
Oh, happiness.
Oh, forgiveness.
Oh, love.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner continued

This is the story that won:

People watching

The whole world stand silent but, I can still hear muffled voices and shuffling feet. It’s almost dark as my eye lids shut slowly. Are they closed yet? I can’t tell, I’m so tired. The Beatles blare in my ears. “Take a sad song and make it better…” when suddenly, the world abruptly stops and the sound of automatic doors opening is heard amongst the “Nah Nah Nah NahNahNahNah Nahhhh’s” and a hand touches my shoulder. I look up and an old woman stand above me keeping her balance. That’s when I remember, I’m on a bus. A bus home.

“Excuse me,” she says “do you mind if I sit here with you? I don’t think I can stand much longer. Weak knees you know.”

Her voice is as weak as her alleged knees. A raspy kind of voice like blowing into a flute and almost getting a smooth note but, it skips.

“Oh! Yes of course, I’m so sorry!” I manage to spit out in the rush of moving my bag off the seat and pulling headphones out of my ears.

“Thank you dear.” She says, climbing into the seat and setting down her stereotypical carpet bag you’d see any woman her age carrying close to her like a prized treasure.

I put my headphones back in but hit pause. I take the time to people watch. I find public transit a good place for this and I see I’m still far from my apartment complex on the west end of town.

A teenage mother juggles two baby boys. Tyrone and Caleb I assume are their names since that’s what she keeps yelling as she tries to keep them from pulling the stop-request-cord above the seats.

A middle aged woman with a cliché perm reads a novel but, not contently as she keeps peering over the top of her book at the younger man in the seats parallel from me. He’s short, but well dressed.

A boy and girl just a bit younger than me sit in the seats at the far back. They talk about high school. About how fun it will be. I don’t think they’re dating because when he looks at her there is no chemistry and no passion of young love. He makes rude jokes, ones that do not impress girlfriends.

Other than that and the driver, Derek, the bus is empty. Most people tend to get of at the plaza a few stops back.

“People watching?” The old woman next to me chirps in with a devious kind of smile.

“I’m…I’m sorry. What?” I say back a little surprised. Was I being so obvious?

“Are you people watching?” She repeats.

“Oh…yea. I’m sorry.” I say embarrassed. I can feel my cheeks getting hot with blush.

“It’s quite alright dear. I do it too.”

“You could tell then?”

“As clear as day. I can see you processing it all in your head.”

“Guess I’m going to have to be more sneaky about it then, huh?” I have a stupid half smile on my face. I can feel it.

“That’s how I met my husband, you know?” Her eyes glaze over.

“People watching? How romantic!”

“Yes, it was. I was going to school to be a nurse. I spent my lunches in the park watching the people that came and went. One day Robert, my husband, sat down next to me on the marble bench. “People watching?” he said and the rest is history.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yes, but it has a bitter ending. Robert had a stroke a few years ago, weak heart and all. He didn’t make it.” The glaze in her eyes fades. They look more sad now, more grey.

“I’m so sorry.” I say trying to sound as sympathetic as possible without feeling like just another sorry soul.

“Thank you hon. He’s in a better place and one day I’ll join him,” her face is bright with joy, but her eyes stay grey, “well my stop,” the bus eases to the corner, “take care dear.” And she leaves.

I look around again. The teenage mother, the kids in the back, the perm, the young man and Derek. What’s their story?

Does the mother have a husband or even a boyfriend?

Does the boy in the back have a crush on the girl?

Did the perm lose someone close to her too?

Is the young man gay?

How long has Derek driven this bus for?

I see my apartment complex over the hill. I reach for the stop-requested-cord, but pull back. Five new people get on the bus where I should be getting off. No one sits next to me. Instead they each take a seat where they can be alone and unsocial and disconnected from the world. A girl who looks to be about my age sits near me. Her eyes dart from me to the perm. I can see her thoughts process.

I get up and ease into the empty spot next to her and say,

“People watching?”

FIN

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner

My writing is worth something.
A ticket to the provincial Jr.Scholar's of Canada writing competition.

They go like this.

Poem:

Bed Dread

My bed shivers…
My bed quivers…
My bed won’t ever feel my love.

I won’t sleep there
I won’t weep there
It won’t ever feel me touch.

It won’t embrace me;
It won’t face me.

It makes no noise, but a groan.

Inside its sheets I am sinking
Beneath pillows I am thinking
And it makes me feel alone.

In all of this.

This country has over 33 000 000 people
This continent, over 528 000 000.
This world is over populating. Over 6 billion humans
eat
sleep
work
study
dream
play
breathe
and thrive on this planet's surface.
The universe itself is infinite.

Each day an average person will encounter at least
100 new faces. 100 new faces each day.
At least 80 of those people are approachable
and could easily be engaged in a conversation.
With topics as deep as politics and religion
to simple as the weather and television programs.

There are 22 major religions
There are 5000+ ethnicities
There are more names than people here
There are 8 births every minute in the United States of America
There are 4 deaths a second globally.

Our views on peace are hypocritical.
Our reasoning for war is always irrelevant.
Our claims of intelligence are often simply arrogance.
The way we see our continents
our countries
our cities
our citizens
our children
our parents
our friends
our partners
our bosses
our teachers
our providers
our politicians
our gods
our neighbors

Is fucked.


So how, how in all of this?
This self loathing and hatred towards one another.
Among all these people
among all humans, animals and organisms
no matter how small,
Did i find love?

The hole in my face.

I've got this hole in my face.
Its decrepit and opens without warning.
When it does i feel like a fool.

It's loud and it screams and yells
even when i'm not trying.
It can't sing or be very entertaining.
It's very good at affection but hardly
shows it.

It's shy.
It shuts up when all it wishes
it could do is speak.
It's indecisive and never knows
when to tell you how it feels.

Sometimes i wish it never existed.
I wish i could stitch is shut with a
needle and thread. Seal with a zipper,
with a lock, with a kiss. With anything
at all. Just so it would disappear.

I might be happy, might be lost, might
be dead or alone or with anyone to hold.
With anyone at all.
With you.

And maybe, if the hole in my mouth
could say beautiful things like it reads
in books or sees on the silver screen,
maybe it could win the world.

Maybe it could smile straight.

Happiness.

To be happy is drinkable water
Clean air to breathe
a microwave dinner
and a warm place to shit.
To me, happy was the necessity.
It was the essence.

So what am i expected to say
when suddenly there is love?
And suddenly, a hungry man
dinner and a toilet come 2nd.

To be happy now means a hand to hold.
Arms to embrace, eyes to observe.
A mind to pick at and flowers on the
first date.

You kiss me and the world melts slow.
The polar ice caps are gone so now green
peace has nothing to bitch about.
A kiss turns to caress and a caress to
a whisper of vile smut that the bible would
consider disgusting. And soon i am in love.
With every breathe, i love you more.

But then the love becomes insane and
now what made me happy is nothing
short of confusing and indecisive.

There's a feeling in my throat.
Or maybe it's my stomach,
i can never tell. It's foggy and
tight and i feel anxious. The more
i try to relax the sicker i feel and soon
we're fighting.

I swear and call you terrible names
you almost cry but hold back because
in a fight you must never appear weak.
I'll be damned if you love me after this.
It's hot and sweaty and a glass falls off
the kitchen table when u smack it with
your iron fist. I hate the way i make you feel
only when we fight though. I'm scared
and i let myself cry and everything is
chaos and then...

and then...then the...the lights go...g-g-g
go out. and you hold me. So close, i can barley
breathe. Your aftershave, or cologne or-or
whatever-it runs through me. I am so scared.
You know that. I still am though the fight is long
over. And we break up. But, you never let go.

Happiness is a warm place to shit.
Same goes for love.