10-5-11

This poem was written by a schizophrenic man I met in jail. I would see him writing and he loved reading me what he wrote. When I was released, he gave me a few pages from his notebook. Here’s one of them. NOTE: I copied the grammar and punctuation exactly as he wrote it in pencil.

Today is a bright day it’ll –

i’ll make it a blessing i’m

black, and wonder GOD do

i still have a family do i.

Temptations of Satan.

Earth, sun, and moon.

Love the ways out.

Love the way in.

Sunny I love you II Men

David How you living Biggie

smalls 6-26-78

6-17-77     1-6-72

2-1-85

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Amelia, Young Amelia

                                                                                                                                     amelia

You could dance like the seasons

and sing like the angels

A head full of imagination with princesses and princes

wizards and witches, giants and goblins

I was late to your recital that night

but it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be there

My Amelia

Didn’t you learn never to talk to strangers?

What did the devil say before he took you?

Did he promise a wish?

You could’ve never known

I made a thousand wishes you had

Because maybe then you’d still be here today

and I wouldn’t have found you buried beneath the snow

I remember cradling you in my arms for the first time

I’ll never forget the last

Your face a sheet of white with a tint of blue

The tears stuck to your face

I still held you close and played with your hair

Winter had betrayed you

But I can still hear you in my dreams

the voice of an angel

I still hear you baby girl, I still do

Escape to Candyland

Put down your fucking drink and think for one second. You’re giving yourself a mini panic attack over nothing. She’s just a woman. A plain, simple, gorgeous woman. And you already know you’re handsome as hell. Shit, how many times have you had sex just this week? Yeah, you’re smooth so don’t bullshit around with this idea that you’re some hopeless oaf with zero chances with women. You’re getting laid tonight. Not by just any broad in this place. You want her.

What the hell is it about her that’s got you all flustered? This never happens and it’s a bit pathetic. Now finish your drink. Order a stronger one, you pussy. You don’t ever need the help of alcohol to talk to dames. This will be the one exception nobody will have to know about. The bartender notices you staring at her.

“She’s a 10,” he said.

You give him a polite nod as you bring the glass to your lips.

“She’s always in here, alone. Men are too chickenshit to even talk to her. Actually, I’ve had to beat the hell outta some fellas who thought it wise to get themselves shitfaced before talking to her. They’d be eating the sidewalk outside just as soon as they reached out to grope her.”

The sting of the alcohol feels electric. Your heartbeat reminds you of the task at hand. You attempt to order just one shot more. The bartender furrows his eyebrows at you and puckers his lips. An odd facial expression that no doubt meant you were about to regret making that decision. Instead, you slowly rise out of your chair and finally make your way to the end of the bar.

Her eyes are closed while her head moves from side to side ever so gently to the melody of True by Spandau Ballet. Her thick blonde curls cover her breasts, red lipstick, a small mole on her neck. Her eyebrows so thick and perfect. She makes you promises in silence.

I know this much is true.

You’re so close to her now that her perfume crawls up your nose and rings bells of pleasure in your head. An entire chorus rings out through your body and suddenly you feel the need to sit down. This angel was powerful.

Her eyes slowly opened, meeting yours immediately. You take a deep breath before putting on your most charming smile, which, after those drinks, was nearly impossible on account of your face being numb. You hope for the best.

Her smile was perfection. You wonder if she’s smiling because of you, or if she was smiling because of her. Did she find pleasure being impossible to get? Now you see her long eyelashes, one small dimple in each cheek. Are you sweating? Fuck. You feel your forehead recruiting moisture to gather ‘round for a grand appearance. Who cares? You complement her elegant white dress. You look more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen, you hear yourself say out loud. She bats her lashes and looks down at her drink holding back a large smile. You tell about how you’ve been watching her all night. Not in a creepy way you quickly add. More like an admirable sort of way. You recount the slew of emotions you were hit with when you first saw her. You even happen to slip in a fantasy or two about taking her out to dinner or a movie sometime. Her dimples become larger with her smile. You even admire the way she tucks her hair back behind her ear. You inch closer.

“I’ve never felt this way with someone I’ve just seen. I usually never have feelings for the women I talk to.”

She cocked her head slightly to one side. What the hell were you thinking saying shit like that? Don’t get too personal. Just keep it surface and dive down only when absolutely necessary. Slow down and maybe let her take the reins for a bit.

That’s when you realize something.

I am so, so sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Alex, you say with your hand out. She slowly slides her hand in yours, her warmth creeping through your fingers and up your arm, cascading through your entire body. You felt all her energy, it was incredible. You swallow hard and say she truly is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your entire life and even if she wasn’t into you, you absolutely had to know her name. She clears her throat, her grip tightening on your hand and says, “You can call me Candyland.” She leans even closer. “And I’ll be your woman for the night if that’s what you want.”

You watch her Adams apple jump up and down as she spoke. What was this? Have you just been touched by some miracle? The moisture on your forehead crawled down your face.

“You really aren’t like any dame I’ve ever met,” you say.

She says, “Baby know that. There’s just one major difference between me and the ordinary lady.”

“Oh yeah?” you say. “And what would that be?”

She’s now leaning so close you catch a whiff of her makeup. She whispers, “I have a fat cock,” and gives you a wink.

You have a very strange erection; palms sweating profusely. You thought she was joking until you watch as she groped herself revealing a swollen outline in between her legs that surely was not a vagina. Everyone in the bar is watching you, anticipating your next move. The only sound is the jukebox switching records. A thousand thoughts race through your head. You suddenly remember the time you first learned to ride a bike with no training wheels and chipped your front teeth. You remember stomping on bees in the field in elementary school. You remember asking Sarah to prom by hanging a sign from your neck saying, “Come Prom With Stupid?” Life flashed before your eyes. This was another one of those pivotal moments. Your life was suspended in this moment.

You lick your lips and quickly wipe your forehead with the sleeve of your jacket and say,

“So, Candyland, your place or mine?”

She agrees to let you take her home with you. Every seat in the bar is empty due to the standing ovation you receive. You see one guy slowly nodding his approval, another gives you two thumbs up, bottles of champagne are being popped open, someone grabs a microphone and delivers a heartwarming speech recognizing the immense bravery you displayed tonight. Men line up to shake your hand and you swear you even see one guy wiping tears from his eyes.

You smile down at your date as the two of you walk to the exit. She wraps an arm around your waist and rests her head on your shoulder. You kiss the top of her forehead as you exit the bar hearing the jukebox start playing Urge Overkills hit tune, “Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon.”