Joy Leftow's Blog, page 22

Another True Story About A Bad New Social Worker

Too stupid to follow through she’s only good for company he
says

Her incompetence creates more work for me

I have to watch, make sure she does what she should

only she hasn’t got a clue what she’s supposed to do

She can sit and twinkle her toes and her supervisor

doesn’t seem to have a clue or know

what her new social
worker is supposed to do




New social worker concocts stories and lies about what she
needs to do

What she should do, has to do, needs to do and gets away
with it too

So she doesn’t have to do what she should do

She decides to socialize with her clients

I guess it’s more fun than work

She gets away with conniving & manipulations too

His therapist confirms what I told him is true




I guess it's easy with the mentally ill

I decide to write a bad service review

and name the culprit
with poor skills.

Yelp takes my review down even though there are several
others too

Mixing rhythms and rhymes with social excursions on the
Internet




Within days Yelp removes all the reviews

Concerning the guilty culprit

But I’ll tell you right now, and I mean this too

Stay away from the Post Graduate Center for Mental Health

Family Is A Bitch

I'm ashamed of my
parents.  At least I am really ashamed of
my father. They say don’t speak ill of the dead so that is why I don’t speak
ill of my mother. It is different to speak ill of my Dad, he's different.

My mom's been dead
since I was a teenager. I was ashamed of her too when she was alive because she
did a lot of mean stuff to me and also acted mostly unreasonable and never
explained things to me. Me, who never stopped trying to find answers for everything.



I don’t want to
talk about my mother though – I want to tell this story about my Dad. When
I told it to a friend of mine, he said, “You’ve got to write this shit down!
Entire careers are built on this crazy shit you’re describing to me. There’s money
to be made in writing this craziness down. They need screenwriters like you who
can write good dialogue.” I agree this much is true.

  “In my family, there was always an inordinate
amount of screaming and all types of drama too,” I confide in my friend. 

My friend says, “Don’t
be ashamed. Sell sitcoms to NBC.”

I say, “Who’d buy
this sick and miserable shit?”

"Exactly!"
He grins. "I’m getting all these weird funny feelings.” 

I’m already
laughing with him, “But I don’t think it’s funny!"

Not that I really do
think it’s funny, but I can understand how it is tempting to hear others unveil and reveal
forbidden perverse territory in families, and how one reading and reliving the
drama can feel a sense of relief that it isn't them which can add excitement to any story.

Here goes with this true story about my dad. 

May as well say a
few words in introduction at creating a picture. Growing up I was luckyto catch my dad in his undershirt when he was home and had no work and no one else was
around except for us girls and he. 
That's it, just his undershirt. 
Whoops!  Is that the family jewels
showing there?  That's what the
experienced nurse said to persuade him back into his hospital robe when he was
post op from hernia surgery.

This particular
story is about my father's promise to my son and me. Dad promised him that he
would contribute to Joey’s college education. 
This is what he said, right? 
O.K.  Several weeks ago I call him
up and remind him of his promise. 

“No problem,” Dad
says, “I remember, I haven’t forgotten.”

Dad says, “Stop by
after work so we can talk some more again about how to go about This. I
remember I gave my word.”

I enter the door;
I am standing near the door and moving towards the closet when it comes. Dad says,
"I can't help you cause you're not free." 

I say, "What kind
‘a shit it this. Of course I isn’t free I got an 18 year old boy to help out.
And you know I have money saved." 

Dad says, "You
spend all your money seeing that Bloke guy in England. Besides," Dad says,
"I spent all the money you gave me. 
I don't have none left.  I just
got a bill from the hospital for Eva for $1100. I’m broke I tell you." 

Now I know what my
Dad's got. And I know he knows I know what he’s got because I know how much I
gave him. Fuck no; Dad's not rich, but promised me eight thousand that isn’t
much. I know Dad has forty eight thousand in a bank account in only his name. I
know what I contributed twice this amount to Dad’s slush fund. Now I have to
break in this story to tell you about Eva to explain what I mean by “my
contribution.” Dad’s been living with Eva for 22 years.  I met Eva when I was newly married at 20
years old.  My father walked me around
the block where she was sitting on the porch with a young male boarder. Instead
of stopping to introduce me as he’d told me he planned to do, he was two
jealous to introduce me and spied on her instead. I didn’t get to meet Eva
really to talk to her until they’d moved from what I had thought was Eva’s
brownstone. Now I’ll never know the truth, but I suspect the real owner may
have been Ms. Kennedy. Eva always had a lot of stories. 

Eva told me how
she’d traveled all around the globe to the Man of Isle, and how she brought back
a black wild Manx from the isle of Man and how he was so big she kept him in
the basement because she was afraid people would make reports and they’d take
the wild cat away from her. She claimed this cat died years ago.  Eva told me how she went to wildest Africa
and ate with tribal kings.  And dig this,
she did it all for free because her best friend's husband was captain of a ship
and they invited her on a world cruise.  Eva
claimed she owned part of this house and part of another, and now I’ll never
know because Eva is long gone and her family just came and buried her. Eva told
me she’d gotten beat out of her half of the second house when it was sold
because the house had solely been under her partner's name. I admit this
sounded pretty porky to me.

I do know for a
fact that she gave my Dad thirty thousand as a gift and I guess the reason she
did what she did is she got scared when she Dad’s thirty grand gone in two short
years.  My Dad's always been a compulsive
gambler but now because of his emphysema, he can barely walk thirty feet so
this was quite a while ago.  The good
thing about my Dad is that his mind’s all there. I recall when he called the
bank manager to argue about twenty dollars more he had calculated his interest
to be. The bank manager explained to Dad the interest was calculated by the
computer and therefore had to right. Dad explained right back that he’d done
the calculations and he insisted the bank manager do the math with him so Dad
won. Dad had a natural talent for math and the violin.

Eva said she had
this disease eating away at her bones and that the doctors cut out the bad
parts and replaced them with plastic bones. On top of that Eva claimed she only
only had one lung. If that wasn’t bad enough she claimed she had a special tube
inserted in her throat that allowed her to eat and talk.  Eva claimed that every two months these
special doctors were coming in from Sweden to do this special procedure. Eva
said no one here knew how to do the procedure to replace the bone except him.
She’d vividly describe how she’d undergo these horrible procedures with only
local anesthetic because OOPS, I forgot to tell you, she also had a bad heart,
and so she was awake during these procedures. Each time this procedure occurred
our lives rotated about a particular ritual.

Gloria and she would
leave at precisely 7:30 in the morning since surgery began at 9. Gloria would call
several particular times to report how Eva was doing.  A few times Gloria said, "We almost lost
her." She would tell us how the doctors had to pump on Eva’s heart because
it stopped.” I’d be sitting with Dad in his home and Dad would always be on the
verge of exploding.  Crotchety Dad is not
beyond still raising his hand in a threatening manner when he loses his temper
but he doesn't hit anymore.  Basically he
stands over and raises his arm up and threatens but it still doesn’t feel very
safe. So Dad is there with me sitting next to him and he’d scream as though I’m
nowhere in earshot, "We almost lost her, Do you hear?"

Of course I hear
Dad I’m right here beside you and that go him more agitated if that’s even
possible. Usually at 4 p m Gloria would come strolling in with Eva holding on to
her arm. Eva would first make a big display of showing us where all the loads
of gauze bandages were and Dad called her Darling and asked her where she
wanted to lay.

Every single day following
the surgery, usually anywhere from 9:30 to 11 am, Eva and Gloria would walk up
to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. They always pretended they were taking Eva
in a cab to the clinic where her bandages were going to be changed. 

Eva said that old
Doctor Swartz, who was mostly retired, but he used to see her at the
clinic.  She said he didn't charge her
nothing. But she claimed she had put out over thirty thousand dollars to save
her leg from being amputated.  She
claimed that they put her through this machine and looked right through her to
see if the cancer was spreading.  And
each time she came home she had new instructions. First, she had to stop
drinking teas, so she started drinking warm water and milk.  I bought her herbal teas.

Then she said the
doctor told her she had to cut down on salt and she needed to takes special vitamins,
etc.  Now we can get back to Dad in that
in retrospect I think Eva may have made these stories up to keep him from
getting some of her money. This way she could take the money and put it in a
separate account. Eva said she needed six thousand dollars each time these
doctors came in from Sweden.  She said
they would’ve had to charge more usually flying in from Europe but they didn't
charge her all their expenses because they knew her so many years. Besides this
same doctor from Europe was the one who put the tube in her throat and took out
her bad lung. 

So here I am,
right?  I'm living on welfare, a single
mom, and getting student grants, stipends, everything I could finagle out of
the system, even baby sitting fees for Eva plus my food stamps and book and
carfare money. I was doing the best I could. 
And here comes good old Eva telling me the doctors are coming again.  To her credit I was the stupid one offering
her the extra stipends I received, two hundred dollars every month.  Like Dad says, do the math. There’s two
hundred per month babysitting fees, another hundred in food stamps and the two
hundred now from my extra stipend. All this is extra because they had two
thousand per month in social security and their rent was only five hundred. I
felt good at first before I realized how Eva was racking up.

First Gloria confesses
to me that she’d given Eva one hundred dollars a month for six years in
addition to her renting the room for four hundred a month. Do the math and keep
up – this means Eva and Dad only needed to pay one hundred to make up the rent.


It’s hard to know who
to believe because Gloria had a lot of stories too which were pretty good ones.
Gloria said that Eva claimed she was in touch with Jeanie Dixon, the psychic,
by phone. Eva said she had to pay Jeanie to protect Gloria from being wiped off
the face of the earth." Gloria said Eva told her I was involved in
Satanism and Voodoo and she better keep away from me and that was why Gloria
hadn’t come around in a while.  The way I
look at it, between Gloria, and me, Dad and Eva are thirteen thousand dollars
richer.

This is all
history.  Let's get back to Dad's promise
to Joey. 

"I can't give
you money because you're not free," he says. So I go over to talk to
him.  Miriam, his sister, keeps running
from her room up until the kitchen where he and I are talking. Back and forth,
I hear her footsteps outside the kitchen door where she paces just out of sight
of the doorway, pitter, and patter.  He
starts yelling at me, "I've got no money, you son of a bitch."  I say, "I know what you've
got."  He says, "That's for
Eva."  Never mind that Eva is
completely senile now and her family would claim that money in a minute and put
her in a home. 

Forget about
rationale. He stands above me, towering, glowering, a bent and hunched figure,
puffing away on his lingering breath.  I
get up and look out the doorway and there's Miriam closing the door.  So I go and ask her why she keeps running
back and forth. "I want to see if the bathroom's free." she
says.  And I say, "Well no one's
been in there since I'm here.  You sure
you're not just listening to us and want to hear us better?" 

This is the aunt I
never saw except once when I was six years old. She came over with Grandma and
Ruth to explain how they had to bail Dad out of Belleview to keep him from
going to jail. That was the only time she’d ever visited.

Now her husband of
thirty years is dead, and she moves in with my Dad. Dad says it’s my sister I
can’t leave her alone. Miriam claims she never had a fight with him although
I’ve heard them bicker more than once.  Miriam
says, “He never raised his voice with me. It’s only with you because of the way
you are. We never ever disagreed in thirty years.” Miriam yells, “ He must've
kept quiet just to live peacefully.”  I
don’t bother to say I've heard her yell and curse at my father, so it's not
like she's some sweet innocent newborn lamb going to slaughter.  She is a bitch.  Miriam thinks it's terrible that I want my
father to help my son.  Never mind how
much money I gave them.

Miriam says, “It's
hard to bring up a child and they deserved every penny of it! You never listen
to anything.  Didn’t they change his
diapers until he was four because he was retarded?” 

I say, "My
son isn't retarded."  And she says,
"Maybe not anymore, like retardation is something you can throw off like
unwanted shackles.

She says, "Whatever,”
she says, “I don't want to hurt your feelings, but isn't that why your son was
getting bussed to school.  Gloria told me
he’s very slow.  Your father doesn't want
to think about the future, that's not a crime. 
And Gloria’s entitled to that money. 
She's the one who gave not you. 
If you gave him money what happened to it?”

Then she goes on
about David.  “Oh, she says, I don't want
to live without my David. “So why isn't she dead yet, I want to tell her but don't.  How can I be so nice and stand here and
listen to this ignoramus who just called my son retarded?  Because I know she is influencing my father
and I figure she might have some sense. 
But she doesn't.  So why do I
continue to stand here and argue? Honestly I don’t know.

My Dad leaves the
room and Miriam enters. Miriam goes on about her health tribulations.  Her feet are swollen badly, she can hardly
breathe.  Then she says, “At least you
could take the day off from work to shop for your father. That’s the problem
with you young people today never any gratitude.”

This is right
after I just heard Dad admit to the social worker that called that he had a
small store of food in the house. 
"I am not allowed to stay home from work they’ll deduct a day of
pay and I can’t afford that,” I say to defend myself to no avail.  She says, “But you can go to see your goy in
Europe!”

“ I always took
care of my mother,” she says, “not like you.” I know this is untrue because her
sister Ruth was the one who sacrificed her life to live with and cared for
their mother. Ruth took care of her mother like a baby.  Miriam adds, “ Your mother knew how much I cared
for my mother. “

"My mother's
been dead over twenty-six years," I say. 


"I
remember," she says, not even hearing me, "When your mother visited
me in 1956 when I left my mother's house in Washington Heights."  "That's impossible," I say, "I
wasn't born until 1959.  Ask my
father."

"Your mother
had you by the hand and I remember," she insists.

"It wasn’t
me,” I insist back, “It must’ve been either Georgette or Harriet.  Harriet was born in 1949.  Maybe it was her.  Georgette was born in 46' so maybe it was
her."

"It was
you."

            "Let's
ask my father.  Daaad," I call out,
"do you know my birthdate. See, my father carries this little black book
with everyone's birthdate and everyone's death date as well.  You know, he lights the candles still on Purim.

"You're
trying to cause big trouble here," she said.  "What are you doing?"

"My father
should know," I said.  "He has
this book..."

"That doesn't
mean anything," she yelled. 
"You want to see my driver's license?" I asked."

What for?"
she said.  "Just like you gave your
father money to hold when you were on welfare."

"What does
that have to do with anything?"

 “Well, you know how to take care of
things." Miriam says.

I say, "Well,
I can't lie about an official document."

"No, but the
date could be changed."

"So you're
calling me a forger."

"Calling you,
no."

"Well what do
you mean then."

"Insinuate is
different.  I don't have a birth
certificate," cackle cackle, "so I'm younger than you." cackle!

Review of Joy Leftow's Blog Written by Carla Zanoni

At the time this was written, it totally missed my sights. Lucky for me some friends put aside for me and gave to me when they saw. It's old but better late than never. Thanks again Carla!

Volunteer at CAAC (Center For Animal Care And Control)

 Got Milk deserved a home but no one wanted her.



 Above is Got Milk. A life lost.










Cats are a part of my life. Recently I decided I would
volunteer at NYC Center for Animal Care and Control to take babies in, since
I'm always doing this anyway. It turned into a nightmare. When I took home the
3 infants, their entire back legs were covered in encrusted fecal matter and
they had very bad diarrhea. This was pretty disgusting and took a lot of effort
to clean. The poor weak things cried pathetically during a thorough bathing
that was a kind of long process trying to remove and wash fur encrusted fecal
matter that had probably been on them since their birth. Keeping them clean was
extremely difficult since they all had consistent diarrhea. In spite of this
the babies still put on quite a bit of weight during that time.  but were still only about one pound each, all
with big tummies.




I had asked if they’d been dewormed when I agreed to take
them but later learned this was untrue. I took them back for shots but they
refused because they said “the vet had no time.” I think they didn’t want to
make the investment of the shot. Later one young man who adopted one baby took
his baby to the vet. The vet called the CACC not wanting to replicate what had
already been done. Surprise, surprise, no papers could be found!




The deal was I was supposed to keep them until the afternoon
before I left for my vacation on July 8th, only 12 days more to help
the babies. One of the babies I named Got Milk because I had to bottle feed her
and she was so hungry plus she always a white spot on top of her mouth.




After I cleaned away all the shit, hiding beneath the shit
was ringworm. I dipped them all iodine. I couldn't cancel my vacation, since my
fare alone had cost over $1000. I found two people to adopt, which meant I had
to return the unadopted one to the CACC. The lady who had promised to adopt Got
Milk, the beautiful very hungry kitty changed her mind when I told her I had
treated them for fleas and ringworm. 
Poor Got Milk had to go back to the CACC.




When I returned Got Milk, they tried to keep me speaking low
and said they didn’t want anyone around to know. They said they'd put her down
because of their lack of resources. Poor Got Milk had to go.

I remember ...

IN THE SHADOWS OF MY MIND I LOVE JOY...



was written in black ink across

the dark photo in my hands

A black, fine, scripted line

a message in time

slipped carefully under the door



I examined the photo

She stood in the shadows

her hand draped casually over

the back of her upholstered chair



I remember Rosalie well

with her short, dyed, brunette hair

cut into a keen, neat bob

All held back by a dark brown net

Her clear dark, deep blue eyes

her cool crisp voice,



A cutting edge of guttural coarse sounds

escaped from her throat when she spoke

Rosalie was alive and genuine

moving in a world of reflected off-beat colors

She wavered on the border

between blasphemy and refinement

quicker than you could wink an eye



Rosalie was argumentative yet warm

agreeable and loyal

She could be deliberately cruel

and bitchy when she when she chose to be

I suspect it had to do with suffering she'd known



And I do believe she loved me

Rosalie is dead now almost 20 years ago

She was over 65 when I met her

(don't ask me by how much)

they said she died from a stroke caused by her alcoholism



I remember how our paths crossed walking down Broadway

me cramped over in pain and misery

I looked up and saw her staring into my eyes

and recognized her

Every time we passed one another,

we smiled at each other

I make a lot of friends like that

So me and this old lady had a habit

I meet a lot of people like that

one gal told me you're the most smilingist person I could ever wanna meet



This day I walked in pain, bent over, holding my womb

"What's wrong, dear?" she said, questioning me with true concern

She took me to her house and

treated me with naturopathic methods she'd learned at some fancy class

She wrapped me tightly from head to toe in a big iced up towel

then rolled me securely in a blanket of wool

leaving me two hours to chill out my fever

gifting me with the first relief I'd felt in two weeks

I stood straight as a result of Rosalie's remedies



How could I help but love her

with her wide open eager smile

her passions and her jealousies her quick anger

her petty aggravating assaults on any behavior she deemed wrong



Rosalie... her sudden quirks

and eccentricities

her confessions to what

she labeled high class prostitution

and past alcoholic history



I figured she needed to dull her sharp senses

her gall and quick wit

her tender loving ways

I'll remember Rosalie without her photo

for she inhabits the shadows of my heart

her words forever imprinted



I love Joy in the shadows of my mind



© 1994

I know it I know it I know it

It’s ok guys I’m putting it away

In and out like the wind my tongue flickers through words
faster than my brain can process them, jumping ahead leaping over boulders 

my
words transcend become one

Eat crow again and again to no end to the viciousness of innocent crimes
committed time and again daily 

idly imbibing sand fills my mouth escalating escape
envisions fantasy visions bleep counting sheep once more it ends begins no end
time begins ends

Tomorrow is mother’s day I get my way automatically it is
whatever I say it is - honor my motherhood day

I know it I know it I know it

I can show you how to do it,

I know it

Listen to the words the beat shows I know it

Reverberations dance in my eyes and visions hide

no one but me can see

Illicit Romanic Encounter

Meet me out side clandestinely

Kiss me passionately

No one else has to know

I promise not to tell

Agree to meet at Starbucks on

Second Avenue at 80 Street

where hopefully, no one knows us.

I reckon you’ll be late but you

beckon me from the corner

On rare occasions when we meet and you think no one else sees
you pull me to you fiercely

Playfully and forcefully always by surprise

Press your lips down hard push

your tongue between my lips

enter without consent

your hand holds my neck firmly,

your other hand applies pressure to my
face

suddenly like an unexpected summer storm

flashes of
lightning and downpour on a sunny day,

quickly disappears, the sun

brighter than before the storm

you’re gone in less than ten seconds

maybe when we’re 80 we can finally get together

again you’ll whisper sweet nothings, stare in my eyes

but then you won’t turn and leave me and we’ll have a few
years together before I die

I can always dream

You don’t really want me, you want little girls size three
and four,

Maybe you’d take as much as six or eight

But not a big girl like me size eleven and twelve

I want to be smaller but that’s not what it is

You just like her more than me she’s trimmer has more muscle

And is artistic just like me

Besides you love her, not me

So why do you insist every time we meet

When I least expect it you act like you’re only being friendly

Suddenly you grab me and my dreams are reawakened in an
unbridled sunrise explosion

When I’m eighty if you’re alone and have no-one, maybe it
will be different

Spill the Beans

Scat it verbally

Rift through a blind alley

I stumble through a valley of words

I am not forsaken

I do not deny the allegations swimming in my head

My tone-deaf ears betray my frustration as I try to work
through them

Deny the valley of death, I stumble ahead

A new gestation of wandering words joins the tribe

wondering where to go before I die

I digest the contents

Of a symphony, words define my lust

betrays and defines my trust

Ignore the shallow depths, I forge ahead.

Follow a new design

Wallow in just and fine deserts,

dust my mind free of desert sand

Trust in salvation

Like a fruit fly,

I follow light breathlessly without focus

jealousy becomes wounds inside out

from way back in the day,

Lucky to have survived till today.

So many chances and choices - should’ve beens and could’ve
beens

never evolving to more than a memory of a dream

Live to survive

Reminisce on what could’ve been; still not dead

An angel stands between me and death



Consumed by an urge for vanilla fudge ice cream

Trapped in the midst of a drug heist

I live to tell how the story went down that night

My son asleep in his bed by the window

they climbed down the fire escape from the roof to enter his
room

Stoned cold criminals, killers seeking drugs we survive to
tell the allegory.

Our son slept beneath an open window the moon gazing in

My husband went to the window, screamed

Grabbed our son from our one bedroom flat where he rested on
his mat

on the floor and handed our son to the retired old couple
from Spain next door

took our son from Felix’s arms.

Later they watched Felix through their peephole.

He held a wooden kitchen chair by its leg and went in the
hallway, swinging it.

Cowardly and afraid, the criminals ran away.

My husband took my baby son to my sister’s that night

Caught between enemies on all sides, the law and so-called
friends are enemies

No one on my side, and me a mother, woes multiply

The world reversed her orbit tonight I swore it was over

One way or another I had to start another life - survive

Wounds of a life lived so hard there’s no escape

I take root in another fight to be won delight in moonlight

A miracle to survive a story to be told

Yes, I had someone to be and someplace to go go go go go

Peace be upon you

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<div class="MsoNormal">
I think of what could be if my sisters, me,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And my brothers were really tight</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the hate dissipated to make the world right</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Choose to see with different sight</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please beg for peace, no more fights</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Emit brain signals </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Send the waves out of mind</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon will be out of time</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like legions of artists behind</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My voice treads on their graves</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pays tribute to wishes for peace</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Vibration moves inside lives changed a joint trance</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Formulations for peace, throw out illusion</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Breathe, eat and sing peace</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
moves through my hair in my eyes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feast on peace</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Visions move no skin tones, colors </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
no place alone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
peace oceans and sand</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
breathe peace explore peace </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barish, Béke, Damai, Friður, La Paz, Iri'ni, Laule‘a,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nanna Ayya, Pingan, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pokój, Rahu, Shalom, Salaam Alaikum,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shîte, Wolakota, Udo, Assalmu Alaikum,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Emit the pulse, Om shanti</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Om Mani Padme Hum</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace be upon you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Peace radiating out into the universe</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Barish</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Turkish</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Béke</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Hungarian</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Damai</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Indonesian</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friður</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Icelandic</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Iri'ni</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Greek</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">La
Paz,</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Spanish</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nanna Ayya</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
Chickasaw</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Laule‘a
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hawaiian -Peaceful, happy<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pingan</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Chinese</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pokój</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
, Polish, Slovak</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rahu</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Estonian</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shîte</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Tibetan</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Udo</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Igbo</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wolakota</span></i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
Lakhota</span></b></div>
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Life is a story waiting to be told

At night, my life’s energy burns through my skin. I try to
sleep but keep waking up, kicking off the covers until the moisture dries and
cools me with tranquility.

Growing more isolated, observing puppets in the grander
scheme of events; aspiring, trying and expiring.



Out of sight out of mind.




He told me I had bedroom eyes. 

I said, “What does that
mean?”

“They’re very sexy,” he said haltingly.

“How lame!” I exclaim, “at least you could comment on the
color or say something about how the blue green color is unusual.”






The days pass in a whirl of appointments looking through strange windows.

Stringing along, smiling and singing a song; a pawn trying to escape with no superpowers or magic cape.

The moons gone astray and my minds lost all day. No one’s home minding the store. I stay to finish day after day between four walls closed in yet so far away.