I love you in a-
You can have the first and last ring of calamari off the plate kinda way.

I thought & dreamed of calamari for four hours on the bus back.
=] You're special.

To the seven;

Whom I grew up with, the past four years of my life.

You who have taught me of my faith, of friendship and growth

Each with attributes of courage and determination that I admire.

I just feel the need to say that I am so grateful to have you met each you,

You have all influenced me in one way or another

And it is such a blessing to have you as elder siblings guiding me.

I hope summer doesn't come too soon...

Much love,

-the-corny-girl-who-did-not-have-the-guts-to-say-this-to-your-faces. =P
(p.s. three of you may be reading this..hehe)

Sense of two

If a little shoe tells me I couldn't have you,
Then the shoe would be lying because there's two
If a butterfly swoons, and tells me to be free,
With only one wing, what freedom would it be?

"Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bittersweetness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest in the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place." -Anonymous

Sallowed & Stained

What bitterness sown

In this muscle once colonized by man

Such hollowness remains,

& emptiness that stands

Once red with cherry passion,

Now blue, broken and ice cold

Once sweetened by youth

Now sallowed with stained truth.

What bitterness sown

In this muscle colonized by man,

Exploited by fate,

Uncertain of the end.

In Orwell Terms

All the world is a farm. And it's people are farmers and chickens.

Once upon a history, the chickens ran free in the fields. Today, they are confined within the parameters of artificial boundaries, of wooden barns. The farmers depend heavily on the chickens for eggs, profiting off such 'intensive' labor of production due to absolute demand. And so the chickens eventually exhaust themselves...and sought for freedom. Exchanging false promises with farmers, they were 'liberated', to a wide open space under the sun, but still entrapped within the parameters of wooden fences.

Think neocolonialism.

Are you the farmer or the chicken?

Cucumber

A cucumber,

Thinly, sliced of coolness
On a blanched ceramic plate.

What silly minty calmness,

From once solid green baton
Emasculated into,

Twenty-five pretty pieces

Nonchalantly chillin' without complain.