Ugly With Colors

No, no!

Don’t look at my face!

Here, see what I forgave you for, instead!

Don’t, don’t do that

-don’t look into my eyes 

It’s just something I threw on

Oh, it’s just a good light

Yes, last night was wonderful

You fell asleep on me, but hey-

At least you had fun!

That’s what matters, right?

It’s okay, these things happen

What’s that, you need space?

Oh yes, I’d love to shop for your boss

It’s just a few miles out of my way

Haha, yes, you’re just friendly

I understand perfectly if

you want to gift her lingerie

Sure, I need no guarantees 

I’m not going anywhere 

So kind, I know, so sweet, I know

I put everyone at ease

Because ‘ugly girls have good 

personalities’

Paper bags for our heads, 

from the groceries 

covering the lease

Ignoring the intent 

Constant appeasement

-Compensation, remuneration

Is what we deal in, instead of 

Affection

That’s the only trade we know

So that’s the commerce we expect

-and know of no other. 

You can see black and white

when you’re taught that

You’re ugly in color 

© CM

24.03.2017

Ugly With Colors. 
It’s not the first time I’ve heard this ‘ugly girls have good personalities’ thing, but doesn’t make it any less painful. 

Or, as my father puts it, at least you have no reason to waste time in front of a mirror. 
Maybe. Or maybe that’s because that’s not the reflection that matters to me. 

Pray 

A loss in one part of the world is no smaller than a loss in any other. Every life snatched, is a loss. Every life taken, is an outrage. Every justification provided is a lie. 

Watching the news is so painful, but this is what is happening. This is the world we live  in. And not only is it tragic, but also frustrating to be unable to help in any way. 

Pray for London. Pray for Syria. Pray for the Rohinhya. For all those who are suffering in Somalia, Sudan, Nigeria… If you can do anything to help, anything to protect, please do. If you cannot, please pray. 

Love, 

Cookie ❤ 

The Devil and I 

I don’t mind the Devil 

He lies, he spits venom

Drinks too much 

Sometimes he sets my home on fire

But he’s honest, doing everything in his power to 

Lead me astray 

Still, we’re okay, the Devil and I

With him, I know where I stand 

It’s a process, but

It’s okay 

It’s these crooked halos I don’t understand 

All the good people around me, whose rot I can smell 

a page of reality away 

What kind of God’s golden children are they

The purity doesn’t fit, their wings are all wrong 

I read the Devil was an angel 

It makes sense why he left 

Even I can see that he didn’t belong 

The Devil and I 
©CM 

22.03.2017

Better the Devil we know… (very well). 

Fallen 

Some men do not carry your heart safely in their chest. They keep it in their pocket, shuffling their daily things around it. Sometimes they leave it lying somewhere. Other times, they forget and jam a pack and a lighter on top of it, and remember many cigarettes later. And you don’t care. Because no matter how bruised it gets, you’re happy knowing that they’re still there to carry it at all.
At least it hasn’t fallen out of their hands. Yet.