Bad Poems for Bad People Volume I

never

it's 2 am and there's vodka on my breath,
my cheeks are dried from tear stains.
that feeling that there's nothing left,
and phantom battle scar pains.
i'm detached from myself,
my body's not my own.
nothing's good for my health,
i'll never be emotionally grown.



waste

put your hands around my waist,
i'm a waste.



scars

stop staring at my scars.
i know what you're doing,
thinking and judging.
just stop it.
they remind me of the same thing they do you,
the certain still places neither of us want to go to.



soon

meet me in my bedroom
you'll see who i am soon.
flashing netflix 24/7,
purple kush and lite beer heaven.



character

my life imitates art...
i'm too dreamy.
a different character everyday,
my mind's always far away.
my hair too tangled
and my dress too torn;
don't ever tell me that you weren't warned.

2 fuck 2 drunk;

the photojournalism of being intoxicated with friends

"SING A SONG! SHUT UP!" ☀ raye

---->>> spirited away ♀mal

This is what Candy responded with when Jason said "YOU'RE DRUNK!" to her. ♡ candy

buried under some cool kids allright

candy's the baddest bitch on a powerwheel

more cool kids B)

"OH GODDAMNIT"

How I Had A Pet Caterpillar and Why It Was Such A Whirlwind Relationship: An Anecdotal Study on Superficiality

(above; 5-year-old Mal, her mother and baby brother in rochelle park, new jersey)

How I Had A Pet Caterpillar and Why It Was Such A Whirlwind Relationship: An Anecdotal Study on Superficiality

    I was a glorious nature loving princess as a wee girl. Particularly, i enjoyed anything that would get me dirty and every little bizarre outdoor thing. Mud? I'm in it. Trees? I'll climb 'em. Bugs? YES PLEASE.

    Especially the bugs. I was fascinated by them. I loved being in my suburban New Jersey backyard spending hours with the creepy crawlies.

    I would squat in the green, prickly grass and crumple up chez-it's on the ground near anthills. I loved watching the little critters carry them back to their home while i watched in awe at their strength. Every now and then I'd see one ant carrying his dead comrade on his back. I would have to look away because my fragile 5-year-old heart couldn't take that kind of tragedy. I was also a very empathetic and sensitive child. Too empathetic, to the point where when I travelled I would have to take every stuffed animal so one wouldn't feel left out. I bawled at lone toys in the supermarket because they had no friends to play with. THAT was the kind of emotional attachment I would have toward everything.

   Then the caterpillar happened. It was an ordinary October day. I had put in a solid three and a half hours in kindergarten, ate a snack while watching "The Busy World of Richard Scarry", and was hopped up to go on some backyard adventures.

   My mom put me in my teal and pink oh-so-nineties-it-hurts windbreaker and let me have at the world behind the glass sliding back door.

    I started off just having some fun, ya know? Sliding, spinning in circles balancing on a board (yeah, ok, I wasn't so great at coming up with games as a kid). Then there he was.

    I was about to settle in for some more going down the slide excitement, but when I got up the ladder, I ran into an obstacle. A tiny obstacle. A fuzzy obstacle. An insanely cute obstacle.

(Let's be real, he has an adorable lion's mane. Also, after some extensive research (Googling) I found out my little guy was an Eastern Tent Caterpillar. How 'bout that.)

    "MOM MOM MOM MOM I FOUND A CATERPILLAR MOM IT'S RIGHT OUTSIDE AND IT'S BROWN AND YELLOW AND FUZZY CAN I KEEP HIM MOM PLEEEASE?? PLEASE LET ME KEEP HIM HE'S SUPER CUTE AND LOOKS LONELY."

    Then I'm sure at that point my eyes welled with big crocodile tears and I started to crinkle up my chin. My face windbiten and rosy, my baby fine hair amassed into one impossible rats nest, and a pleading look on my face. I was probably a sight to see.

    The theatrics were lost, though, as I realized my mom didn't really care one way or the other if I had a caterpillar. At least I wasn't asking for a dog. She more or less gave a somewhat puzzled look and replied, "I guess..."

    Squealing in glee, I bumbled quickly into my bedroom, tripping over my own feet from unadulterated exhilaration. Standing in my room I began to think that my new friend deserved his own home. I managed to scrounge up an old shoe box and promptly plopped him inside.

    I set down the shoebox and frowned. His house looked so empty! I wanted. my caterpillar to have the best. Have it so good that all the other caterpillars would be jealous. My guy would be the king of caterpillars!

   I started to dig through my toyboxes of treasures that stood painted white against pink walls that were plastered with'The Little Mermaid" wall stickers clustered together because I was allowed to put them on myself.  I found a few things I thought might be suitable.

   First off, I put a pink plastic dollhouse bureau inside, because really, what caterpillar doesn't need more closet space?

   Then I found another piece of hard, pink, plastic doll furniture. oddly enough this piece was from a different set, and decided Caterpillary (I cannot for the life of me recall what I actually named this critter, so he will be referred to as 'Caterpillary' from here on out) needed his own bed to be truly comfortable. It even had a built in blanket so he wouldn't get cold! I knew Caterpillary would adore me for this.

    For the final touch, I went outside and yanked approximately eight blades of dried grass from my yard. I littered them about Caterpillary's new home with a proud smile. Now it will remind him of his home environment! He has everything he needs!

    Well, I thought, but upon showing my mother my interior design triumph for caterpillars everywhere, she informed me something caterpillars also need is food.

    "Yeah, food is pretty important to them." I was informed, so I tromped back outside and stripped the first ten branches I found of their leaves, piling them in a corner for Caterpillary's new home.

     Now that my precious Caterpillary had successfully had his home pimped, I set the box down in my room. I watched him and daydreamed about all the adventures we would have while he...well, crawled around aimlessly.

     The first week with Caterpillary and me was everything I hoped it would be. He would crawl on my finger. He would crawl on things I put in front of him. He was soft to pet. Yep, we were now living the exciting and exhilarating life of a 5-year-old girl and her caterpillar, and it was sweet.

    Entering week two, things began to become a little rocky. Caterpillary would still crawl on my finger, but with more of a listless aura. He would still crawl up objects I set in front of him, but acted like he was stuck in an infinite existential crisis at the same time. I would still pet him, but I could tell things were different. He wasn't his usual self. I retired to my bed fairly concerned.

    Morning came and I went to check on Caterpillary like I always did, but something was wrong. Something was gravely wrong. Caterpillary wasn't there, but had been replaced! Between one of the cardboard shoebox walls and his pink dresser was a gigantic, unidentified mass. It looked like someone had tried to glue cotton balls together, but they used way too much glue and tried to wipe the excess off onto the grass. No sign of Caterpillary.

(Like this, only between cheesy miniature doll furniture and without that dude's pruney hand in the background...)

   Of course like every other insane 5-year-old (maybe??) I immediately assumed Caterpillary simply got tired of my company and built himself a coffin out of gucky stuff to lay down and die in. I was one macabre lass.

   Wailing, cradling the shoebox mansion between my arms, I ran to my mom. "Caterpillary...is...DEEEAADDD" I mustered out between sobs and shoved the box at her. She peered inside and began to smile. Then giggle, until she finally erupted in full on laughter. Annoyed, I said whatever the five-year-old version of, "Does this seem like a fucking joke to you?? We need medical assistance, NOW."

   "Mal, he's not dead. He's just spun a cocoon! This is a good thing. He's just sleeping, and when he wakes up he'll be a brilliant, vibrant butterfly!" Something now tells me my mom's knowledge of butterfly science wasn't exact, but it caused a wave of relief to come over me.

     I vaguely recalled watching an animated video in school about metamorphosis. It was also a chronic plot point in TV shows where caterpillars sure seemed to be picked on a lot. That is, until they transformed into the dainty, lovely butterflies. Then the bullies had to eat their own shit and apologize to the new beauty.

     I was back on top of the world with Caterpillary. Sure, he wasn't as lively as he was before, but I was all too excited to see him become a butterfly. My teacher even asked me to bring him in for show-and-tell! Even though we were learning the letter 'V', so the knick knacks we brought in to show and tell about were supposed to start with such.

    Yep, Caterpillary and I were living the life. I would lay in bed at night and imagine what sort of colours and patterns he'd turn out with. Maybe he'd even be a new breed of butterfly! Beautiful with sheer pink wings, sprinkling glitter everywhere it flew. "Yes," I muttered convinced, "that will be how it will happen." I faded into sleep.

    Peaking in Caterpillary's home the next morning, I noticed something. His cocoon was different...almost as if something were trying to emerge from it...OH MY GOD SOMETHING'S TRYING TO EMERGE FROM IT!

    I again ran to gain the assistance of my mom, who told me it was going to take a while for him to be fully free and to go back to bed.

     I was nothing but a ball of nerves that day at school. It was worse than when my parents bought me the game "perfection" where curling up into a stressed-out anxiety ball panicking that I was absolutely NOT going to be able to get these pieces in before the timer rang, was more prominent than the wholesome family fun the box had indicated. I was terrified I'd miss Caterpillary crawling from his weird spit coffin. What if he made it out and immediately flew away and I never saw him again?! It was the longest school day ever.

(Seriously, don't buy your kids this game. It only prepares them for lifelong crippling panic attacks.)

     I raced from the motor fumes of my school bus to the corner of my room Caterpillary lived in. I breathed a sigh of relief to see that he was, in fact, still encased, struggling to get out. I didn't take my eyes off of him for the rest of the afternoon.

     Dusk began to fall, and Caterpillary was almost out of his prison! I had done it! My parents helped me bring the box onto the back porch where I waited and watched for Caterpillary to become the most splendid butterfly humanity had ever laid eyes on. I began jumping up and down repeatedly, which was a gesture i used as a child to convey "uncontrollable excitement".  I was watching, on edge, the way most people do during the final point of a sports game.

     Suddenly- big movements. He was almost free!! I was in hysterics at this point, shouting and simultaneously jumping and running around in excited circles. It was almost like a childbirth scene from a movie. "Here he comes...!" I looked into the sky, mouth agape, ready to shield my eyes from this obvious miracle.

('Sup?' - Childhood disappointment)

.....

     I didn't see a butterfly, though. All I could see was this hideous, brown, rough winged thing. It didn't have the long, elegant wings of a butterfly. Instead, it had these weird stubby things it didn't quite know how to coordinate. It didn't have the ballet dancer grace of a butterfly. This thing just kept repeatedly flopping into my porch light, "flying" backwards, then flopping into the same light again.

     "...Where's my butterfly?" I asked meekly. I could see my mom was struggling. This obviously was not what she expected, either. I already knew what the answer was, but was holding onto a shred of hope there was some misunderstanding. That my butterfly was about to pop out behind the brown thing, as if an elaborate insect joke.

     "...Well...caterpillars DO turn into moths too..." My mom muttered, bracing for the emotional storm I was about to cause.

     "BUT...BUT...I WANT MY BUTTERFLY!!! THIS THING IS STUPID AND UGLY AND I DONT LIKE HIM ANYMORE!", I blubbered. I was so angry. So heartbroken. Caterpillary had betrayed me after all I had done for him! He turned into something I never wanted him to be. Why couldn't he have just been a normal, pretty butterfly?

     I wish I could say this story had a happy ending. Such as Caterpillary and me meeting up again. Me learning the error of my ways and accepting him for who he is. Us getting brunch together where i delievered an elaborate, heart-felt apology.

      But it doesn't. The caterpillar incident wasn't talked about in my house for a while to avoid prolonging my severe disappointment. I simply stopped caring because he became ugly, and that was the unfortunate truth of it. I hadn't grown bored. I wasn't afraid of it. I just no longer wanted anything to do with him because he wasn't beautiful.

     This poor little bug I had once fallen head over heels in love with. This outrage coming from a girl who insisted on playing with every single toy, even if she didn't like it, to avoid hurt feelings. The girl who had lovingly prepared a home for this creature and watched over him like a newborn infant. I just no longer cared. How could I love something ugly, anyways?

     The worst part is this wasn't a learned behavior. My parents didn't sit me down every night to go over flashcards of what should and shouldnt be considered beautiul. It was instinct. Even at that young age I was already thinking that looks were everything. There was a certain standard i had to follow. A mold. That if I didn't grow up to be beautiful, society would reject me just as i rejected Caterpillary. After all, who would love a moth?

     Now an adult, I know lots of people who would love a moth. Who would prefer a moth to a butterfly. Including myself.

     I still feel terrible for what had happened between Caterpillary and me. I honor his memory to this day by adoring anything weird, old, creepy, and, of course, ugly. I now know that ugly has nothing to do with anything skin deep. Everything that I thought otherwise was my own twisted thought processes.

     Today I adore moths. Most moths are stronger than butterflies. Most are smarter than butterflies. They are faster and better hunters than butterflies. They will eat the supremely annoying bugs like gnats and mosquitos. They spin silk. They can even see in the ultraviolet colour spectrum, which is like a damn superpower. Essentially, moths are really who you want on your side. Who you want to get to know and who would be a lot more interesting. Looks most definitely can be deceiving.

     I guess what I'm trying to say, and what the moral of this story is, never judge a bug by its cocoon. Get to know them first, they are probably more spectacular than you ever imagined.

(Let me clear the record up, this is an Eastern Tent Moth and it is ADORABLE ~♡)

oh hey y'all