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B FUR Jan 2015
Your face tells of tales
Like a veteran.
Spattered residue
From something done to you.
I could have cleaned you right away,
But this pattern hints that
I like to watch the decay
And the inherent struggle
With elbow grease and sponge
Of another day.
(Another day
You’ll be white porcelain canvas
Another day
You’ll hold fresh nourishment in your womb
Another day
You’ll be this
Another day.)
B FUR Apr 2014
There was nothing to do but wait,
To analyze the set-in facts.

Did you hear my voice
Once I let go of your ear.
Or must I always tug
Always remind you dear
(We're something important)

All you say is ok,
That short, thin-lipped way
That short-eyed stare
At some wall I can't see,
But must have made when
I asked for affection.

Your teeth-white glory
And field roaming eyes,
Sure, they say ok.
To give-ins on
-oh right, sorry-

Have I grown large
Is that why you no longer wrap arms around me?
It must be all that discontent I eat,
And I'm eating  for two.
To wake you up on the right side of bed
To find my peace
To keep you chewing on the beautiful side of your head
To halt my incessant sleep
-goes straight to the hips.

Soaking in terrible hit.
Kick and throw fits.
I'll pull into comI ******* HATE ALL THIS WRITING
I wish there were beautiful metaphors,
But we've tipped and toed into a rut
Far too real.
B FUR Apr 2014
Take a look
At this decade's eternal light.
Youth, beauty, happiness.
In theory.
Is that how it was for our parents?

Top tags on this website
#depression #suicide #heartbreak
Are grandma's photo albums fairytales
Or has something changed

Without shame
Unmarked blame
Just a change

Perseverance died
At the doorstep of sarcastic self-deprecation,
Cool-to-be-lame facades,
Glorified depression, growing vines on glowing laptop walls
With a generation, fetal position, ripped jeans and eyeliner, inside

Self proclaimed ****
If you say it first
Those twisted lips of others
Won't press on such a fresh wound

And here we lose the metaphor

Cut yourself
So everyone else
Is picking at scabs

No one would hurt another
Who hurts themselves
Unless they're an ***
So the words are silenced
Are you stronger? Happier? Healthier?

And so we can always be safe
In our self loathing
Until puppy eyes and perfect pictures
Leave us hungry
Hurt by the people who don't mind being *****
Gaining assets, stealing rights from under
Our droopy dismal noses snapshot
Caption: **** up, let down, repeat. Hate me.
-politicians and companies will bash your head on rock bottom
Looking up in disbelief at chemical burns from Big Mac's
We'll look back down to pout about our pain.

The only way to save ourselves?
Though I conveyed none of those emotions in this poem.
**** me.
I'm a hypocrite. But my point still stands.
Perhaps even stronger.
This is extremely negative and scattered, but I spent so long writing it I'm going to post it anyway. I can't believe what a hypocrite I am. I hope I make sense to at least one person. This also seems so mean when reading it but wow it's not supposed to be. I need to shut up and stop being so insecure about my writing and terrified of offending people. PHEW. WHY AM I RANTING SO MUCH I MIGHT JUST WRITE A MINI NOVEL. HERE. IN THE NOTES SECTION. This poem made me see how extreme my hypocrisy is when it comes to self insulting and just generally bringing myself down. I'm going start improving as of NOW! So yes, this poem is negative and scattered, yes I fear I haven't gotten across my thoughts at all, but I worked on this poem for a good while. I've gotten a **** load out of writing it and look I'm in all this reflection and self improvement because of, perhaps, a sub par poem. And I feel ******* fantastic. I feel so fine about myself right now I'm on the verge of talking about my much deeper insecurities in this little ******* note that's now longer than the actual thing I'm posting. Hahahaa I have 4 followers (hi Daniel) this is essentially a diary entry, but I don't care if 10,000 people see this!
I'm scared of disgusting people. Of course in a physical way with my appearance, but I'm mostly scared of a disgust different from that. I'm afraid of disgusting people with my confidence. I fear that if I'm laughing loudly, speaking my mind, or doing weird **** in public then people will think I'm confident. And they'll look at me with disgust because they can clearly see there's nothing for me to be confident about. They'll see me as a freak saying stupid and embarrassing things but my confidence blinds me and so I make a fool of myself while being silently pitied. And so for a long time I put myself down, to assure others I KNOW, I'M NOT BLIND, I SEE I'M A ******* IDIOT and I tried to portray as little confidence as possible because it felt better to act knowledgable about my flaws than act confident about, well, just existing. So I suppose a lot of this poem is about my old attitude, but I see that attitude in so many people I know and in this trendy teenage "alternative" media crap. Perhaps I'm putting my own thoughts behind the stuff I see, I don't know. I FEEL CONFIDENT IN THE VIBE I'M GETTING SO YEAH MAYBE I THINK I DO KNOW. YEAH. I have 3% battery. It's 2 32 am. This was an absurd adventure into my stream of consciousness, if anyone took the ride with me, I hope this brings some reflection for you as well :)
B FUR Apr 2014
It shouldn't break my grounding,
Muscle under blubber under skin.

But I feel sworn into a secret club

It wasn't for lonely virtual lust
I just needed to remember.

I stared at that skin soft as mine
Goose bumped as mine
So many categories it can be tricky.
How do I know if this body was posted as beauty
Or horror?

I'm part of that club.
B FUR Jan 2014
I sat next you,
watching you search for God
3,000 miles in limbo
hoping you didn't find
the mumbo jumbo I did
when I really thought about dusty books.

You asked for weather updates.
So I whispered in your cemented ears,
'cause you can't see a ******* thing
but progressive buildings.
It was as grey as the inside of your eyelids, anyway.

Right when I walked in,
my face went dead pan
with your fresh decision to die.

I sat.
I whispered.
It was fine.

I spectated on our situation.
Your sweating breathes,
my sweating eyes.
We're natural.
We don't matter.
Emotions are natural.
They don't matter.

When the dusted books disintegrate,
and mumbo jumbo weasels from
that little pocket most have cemented shut,
we'll feel much better.
I do feel much better.

Feel freely
fall freely
observe in captivation
stay here, while there.

has only brought stress.
Try absurdity.
Try reality.
B FUR Jan 2014
We live in gradients,
phase shifts.
bubbles one at a time
on the rise.

Body and mind is a futile question;
we will still be this
and some will be wrong.

Now, I'm steaming,
no longer a water drop
pulling itself together on your cheek.

Posed politely on a hillside
beautifully laid out in my mind.
I'm the fog headed west.
Muscles in corners strung high
-or at least higher than last month.

Gradient overlook
from dead grass to rusty leaves.
I. Can. Leave. Too.
B FUR Jan 2014
Robin eggs,
smashed in the ground.
Another gulp,
I let my eggs drown.

look more desperate
when they're dying for company.

I found my confidence,
in always laughing too loud
not remembering where I went

I don't want to spend more money.
I don't want to read a good book.
If I have to pick something,
I'll keep deliberating on that question.

Fears block the way I climbed up
the plunge is far too deep for breathe .

Please don't call
my heart will bear another pure lie
I'd have to tell you I'm doing fine.
Catchy conversations
held in shield of questions.

Old women tell me they're not fine,
never do I turn to my side.
Horsing blinders
I walk to the end of the aisle.

— The End —