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I am a writer and dreamer, currently working on blogs and a book series.

Sunday, 24 February 2013


I was looking around Convozine, a great place to connect with fellow writers and photographers, (mainly), and I found a refreshing poem with some great lines.  It's by Irie Aphrodite.  For more of her work, here's the link:


Fortune Cookie Expectations

11:11 wishes and fortunes cookies take our hope
Holding it over our heads
like a small dog tempted by the snack
Go ahead. Smirk.
Appease your longing to find humor in pain.
While wine bottles full of pity, hope, and wishes smash down on our head(s)
The sound of reality rings in our ears
And pitter patters of realism fall to the ground
encasing us in some sort of trap
Some people confuse “life” with
They give us saccharine coated expectations of society
And promise inducement
Of wishes
And dreams
And things found on creased story book pages worn and frayed from the many milk shakes and grubby hands
that held them close as a child
A penny found head’s side up may bring back those good ol’ days
-If not-
Forgotten copper is easily disregarded behind our back hurling straight for a fountain
(piss and wishes mixing beautifully
Plunging through the ironies of society)
Appeasing our desire to believe in something
For the moment.
Fairytales are great
But as years perish
Fortune cookies and bibles seem like more realistic outlets
To pitch our energy into believing
As a teenager we are straddling the edge of imagination and politics.
Nothing  oozes in between the cracks anymore
 unless it happens to be the juiciest gossip
-which always seems to inflate the usage of imagination anyway-
But other than the gleeful dishes of ramen noodles and Facebook fame,
History books of dusty heros,
and bags full of medications for “pain”,
Nothing holds our attention more than the quest(ion)
as to whether we should believe in something –or not
Santa Clause long since protruding into the house
And nobody cares about our braced teeth.
Straight teeth
Brushed teeth
That somehow aren’t rewarded anymore for falling out
(Dammit. Crack and the tooth fairy don’t go hand in hand?)
The only things we can count on at night,
 tucking fallaces into the corners of our diaries,
are the facts: tomorrow night, at this time, 11:11 will roll around again
Greasy Chinese food has a purpose
Each magazine whispering promises, leads us to believe our horoscopes are real,
Shooting stars continue to explode into the galaxy
Waking up dead beat tired
Hands stained from naughty things
Common sense aloof, foggy brains,
And clothing still smelling like the spilled beers from last [Saturday] night
Mix effortlessly at the altar where all our sins are gladly washed away
Rewards hang above our head
in the form of crosses and allowances
And like the small dogs we are
We try to appease the Big Guy up there
Because why else would we get up at 8 o’clock and still hung-over?
You think mama’s pancakes are that good?
Wishful thinking?
Luckily eyelashes fall off by the gallons after wiping away mascara
And wine bottles of hope
Are sold in malls exploding with capitalism
Thankfully the towering sight of blisters on heels
Empowers us to stand taller, wish harder,
Walk faster
Throw more on the line
Countdown (waste) the minutes until Lucky Times
Where a wish, here and there, will further our dreams
Which we put onto a pedestals just to give life “meaning”

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