it's 3am
Well, 3:08 to be exact
Congratulations Tina, you've made it...
You've seen the time on that laptop of yours,
You've contemplated the thought of sleep but then dismissed it because you know you'd never get up in the morning if you went to sleep then.
You've listened to every Weezer song know to man
You've stared up at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes without thinking about anything except how hot the bottom of the laptop was on your legs
You've checked all of the social media sites while thinking about how you were wasting your life.
You got up and walked around your room because you were scared you were becoming one with the weird furry green chair you love so much.
Two hours goes by in a flash and Mua's just now getting up for work
She walks in, tells you that she's kicking your father out for harboring yet another one of his presumably ****** friends, then walks out, leaving you not very surprised at her decision that she'll forget about in an hour.
That's your cue to get up and start your day that never really started.
You've now walked out of your room an taken a look in the bathroom mirror, staring at yourself then giving yourself the finger as you stumble into the kitchen
Tea time! You love that morning cup of tea, you can tell by the huge frown on your face.
The door is cracked open, and so is your life, so now you've taken a step outside and you realize that the sky is a different shade of purple then it was earlier that afternoon, and that made you smile... in the first time in several hours... you smile.
now you're leaning on the 3rd floor railing drinking your green tea with a familiar tune ringing in your head "my momma wouldn't say you were a nice guy but you're under forty and you have a job.." over and over and over again but you don't mind it at all because it's accompanied by that cold breeze that you've longed for all night.
Now you've walked back inside because your neighbor saw you pouring the last bit of tea you had in your cup over the railing.
Now it's 6:30 and your back in the little fuzzy green chair...
**** it.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
TINA
The innocent pouty lip
The feminine grin
The Elvis lyrics
The yearner of scandal
KAY
The cynical, annoyed mope
The rock and roll
The sharp black nails
The pursuer of scandal
GRANT
The friend of mother nature
The need for peace and love
The flowy relaxed soul
The denier of scandal
and you wonder why I have a war in my mind.
My passions
My spirit and
My blank stares into heaven
Tell you that I am...
TINA KAY GRANT - The Vintage Rebel.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
He calls me his hepcat
He likes to feel the way my hair curls near my scalp
And gets straighter at the ends.
As he runs his strong fingers down my head,
He massages my thoughts until love fills my brain.
He says I'm a babe
He likes to sneak his hand around my body
and place it on my stomach so he can feel me breath
Up and down
Softer then an angel's touch.
He whispers I love you
He never says it to loud
He says words as meaningful as those should never be said to loud and
abruptly, only to wake the sleeping monsters that rest in his head.
He watches me write
He watches my process
And with his eyes on my soul, I've never written a bad poem.
I can't get enough
Of his muscular arms
His beautiful face
And his pretty song.
I love it when he brings me to his shows
He takes me down to the local dive-bars in his red Chevy Nova
Oh how I love his red Chevy Nova, it makes me feel like the bad girl, that I've always wanted to be.
He was born bad, tough, and strong
With his hair slicked back, and his leather jacket that his father gave him
He looks like something straight out the 50s. and I love it.
But in bed with me, we are one with the galaxies, holding nothing but love
and each other.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
I have melancholy in me
I call it creativity
I call it thinking
I call it uniqueness
My childhood isn't to blame for the general sadness within
Nothing is to blame
That's just who I am
Sad
Don't feel sad that I'm sad, because sad is just me
It's filled my body, and I like it there
It'd be more sad if I were happy all the time, because happiness is always temporary.
I'm content with my sadness because I know that it's me.
And I'm content with me
Don't tell me to write happy because I never have and never will
Even if the poem has happy words
Just know the person writing is nice n' sad, smiling away the happiness
When you ask me what's wrong, because I'm looking down
and I say nothing is wrong
it's true, nothing is wrong
because sadness is my truth
and it's impossible for truth to be wrong.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
The angel has gone black
The one that stays by my side is now reluctantly trudging along
all because of me
The angel has given up
I am the poisonous, grey smoke she breathes in
Turning her mouth black
The angel has had enough
My sociopathic ways are to blame for the destruction of the indestructible
The angel didn't listen
I told her long ago that I'd burden her
Like I did mother
Mother gave me up, but It wasn't her fault
It's mine
It's irrefutable
And if she reads this poem, she'll feel I'm trying to make her feel guilty about her feelings, oh angel, why did you take me in?
It didn't do good for anyone
Doesn't she feel I'm the poison
that leads people to their demise?
You should let me be alone, angel
Protect yourself from me
Protect me from the feeling of guilt when you say you're suicidal
I beg and plead for you to let me go
I only do bad for you
you love me, I love you
but I do bad for you
I do bad for you
I do bad for you
I DO BAD FOR YOU
Everywhere I go, anything I do
I do bad for you
You tell me that I don't care
but, I don't care about anyone
or anything
not even myself
the angel has done black but she'll never leave my side, no matter how black she is
I'm going to have to live with guilt forever
The guilt of apathy
Horrible, uncontrollable apathy.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
The half -dead beauty
The with holder of ashamed feelings
old feelings
The name doesn't live up to the inspiration it emits
It's the heaven in the hell
But of course I didn't appreciate it then,
When I had your interest.
We'd go there when I stayed over...
To the place where cowardly arguments go to instigate
To the place where we would go to be alone
To the place we'd go to practice our dances and songs, only to give up on them after a week.
You'd call me up and tell me to go with you to the field and of course I did.
Before I found out you didn't care
Before I knew about your master manipulator status
I would've done anything for you
Before I noticed your apathy
It was supportive
Before I knew I was just one of your friends
I was excited.
When I moved away, you forgot about me
But I remembered you, I remembered the field, I ******* remembered
And when I came back, you were gone yet only streets away...
Times weren't so good after that
You'd still call once a month, but I didn't answer because I refused to fall back into your well-maintained trap.
Today, I remembered the field
And I took my notebook, and my Lana Del Rey, and my combat boots and sauntered down the irrefutable road of unlucky childhood memories, and I lead myself there.
When I arrived, I noticed those huge black, plastic tubes were gone
Gone
Just like my feelings for you
And I sat, right under that same tree we sat about a year before, and I wrote this poem.
That's as real as it gets, the once unappreciated, ugly field that held our bitter-sweet relationship, inspired the once unappreciated, ugly girl.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
It's hilarious
Just think about our past...
the disadvantageous arguments
Arguments about things that we would soon know
It taught us about the future
We were disconnected, probably still are
Just because of closed hearts and minds...
And I'm not afraid to say, a little jealousy on my part...
We were young and thought we knew everything about each other.
We were disconnected, yet deep down in our unknowingly vast souls, we were the same.
I was thinking about those fights we used to have...
I reminisced about the day after your tenth birthday, when we were walking to school and you felt older, much like you do know, you felt proud to be older, I remembered that I was jealous and insisting that you were being mean. I remember your face when I said these things, and I felt guilty, you have one of those enforcing faces that told me that I was wrong.
I remember that one day we were fighting one morning at the bus stop, as we always did. After school, you fought Benny, remember him? We hadn't made amends yet, but I knew that you needed my support, and frankly, I needed yours... so I cried because I felt helpless but you stared trustingly straight into my soul, creepily I might add, and you told me to kick that **** in the face... but I trusted your judgment because you're my older brother and I love you! to this day I don't know if I actually kicked him, but I do remember that we ran home and we were as close as we'd ever been.
I remember those times, and I can't help but laugh, and smile, and cry.
I feel like lately our relationship has been kind of forced because we HAD to get along... but I feel like, if we talk more, like we used to... we could get our groove back. :)
I know this isn't a very rhythmic poem... but
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I love you Ethan!
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
I had a good day.
It's a rarity
It's delusion
Merely a mirage
But somehow, it's still good.
I can just forget
Forget about the complicated thoughts of maturity
Of lost innocence
And only think of the Mooshkians.
It's stupid really, how really stupid we are.
The puns
The god-like laughter of the three out of place children we are
the immature ****** euphemisms spewing from our ***** minds...
As if one more joke would free us from the social pressures.
We sing as if no one were glaring at us with their judgmental yuppie eyes
Even though we know they are
Those children you see, laughing, huddled up in a circle
You think to yourself that we need to grow up, to take life and grab it by the *****
What we would say to that... well... we would laugh because you said *****
This is the only time we have to act like the children we are, together.
We all have mature lives by ourselves
Mia, my ******** heavy-metal queen
Mason, my little fashionista
And me, the genius poet
Together, we are THE MOOSHKIANS!!
WE WILL TRY AND WE WILL STRIVE AND
WE WILL MAKE IT TONIGHT
BECAUSE WE ARE THE MOOSHKIANS AGAINST THE BOOSHKIANS
AND WE WILL STRIVE AND MAKE IT TONIGHT.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
poetry.
right?
no rules?
right?
just soul?
right?
am I ******* right?
What the hell happened?
I find myself, in a time of complete mayhem
and I just want to write
My beautiful words, thoughts, and emotions
now under duress
"punctuation"
" I don't get it"
I don't write for you.
I write for me.
what the holy hell is poetry if it's not undefined.
the only thing in this quintessential world, that is undefined.
the only ******* thing I have
and you want to micromanage it.
just like you micromanaged everything into the ground.
well, bite me society.
not on my watch, not even on my time zone.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Mother Of Three
Symbolical Tree
Tall And Strong
Feminine With Leaves Of Forest Green
Master of disguise
Fiery chocolate eyes
Constant safe smiles
Protector of the young
Whimsy And fun
Sit and watch her for a while
You see a born protector
Protector of an emotional child
Who was wise and to wild for her own good.
I guess I'm saying thanks
For the trips to the stores and the banks
For the freedom, for the hurry
You went to hell and back for me
Without an ounce of worry.
Happy Birthday
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC