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Dec 2019 · 194
I hate sand
Candy Flip Dec 2019
I've seen sand flooding through city streets like a torrent of hot gravy drowning sprouts and beetroots, park benches and church rooves.

Or maybe more like the final sprinkle of salt over a roast dinner, baptising the parsnips and chicken breast in some sick meal time ritual.

It bursts through stained glass windows, suffocating the streets and preserving the locals. It rains down.

They used to mix it into a paste and mould it into city scapes - arches topped with fancy statues in humble salute through holes in the clouds.

Nowadays they melt it down and make office blocks out of the stuff, 500 metres in the air propped up like a million glossy middle fingers.

We collect samples of it from the moon, then analyse it and draw loads of numbers and pie charts.

We bake it into computer chips and pluck digits from the stars in the sky. We can predict eclipses and the dances of the planets with only slightly more accuracy than Ptolemy.

The power and strength of the sand is unstoppable. It'll come again when you least expect, and drag us with it into our own graves.
******* sand
Jul 2018 · 272
Little Baby Booby
Candy Flip Jul 2018
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie
I wanna **** my thumb like I'm smoking a doobie
I eat all the munch, then I screamin for more
Then when u turn around I gonna **** onn the floor.

Poopy poopy ****, I wanna **** on you.
Open ur mouth, I give you something to chew
But you won't get mad and you won't scream,
Cos I'm just a little baby *****, that's me!

uh huh

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie
May 2016 · 673
Candy Flip May 2016
yesterday the moon was an open bracket (
today, a full stop .
tomorrow, I expect an exclamation mark !
Mar 2016 · 5.4k
The day my balls dropped
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
Mar 2016 · 347
Candy Flip Mar 2016
I dipped my toe.
Now I know.
Jan 2016 · 1.1k
Text on a page
Candy Flip Jan 2016
Align: right.
Now look at these sentences
Look at how they stick out from the right of the page like that.
Pretty cool, huh?
They look like icicles or some ****.
I should write a poem about icicles
And then everyone would think I'm smart
Because I'm making a metaphor with the very text on the page.
Or I could write a poem
About my mental process as I'm thinking this
And people will think I'm double smart
For being so meta or some ****.
Jan 2016 · 869
the Winter
Candy Flip Jan 2016
I am sitting in my morning chair, drinking my morning tea, and I look out of the window.

I can appreciate a pale pink winter's morning - the delicate allure of pastel hues peeking through naked twigs of birch and oak drenched in dew.

I can appreciate the brisk and quick tail flicks of a fox in the cool mist, partaking in nature's scene alongside the robins and finches which twitter and sing.

I can appreciate an empty sky, wet with the steam of breath and the peace of air, left behind by the clouds of chatter and chaos from the exhaust of the day gone.

But what I appreciate most is that I am sitting in my morning chair, drinking my morning tea, and though this is a charming scene , there is a window pane between it and the comfort of me.
p.s. I'm on acid
Jan 2016 · 702
Free verse
Candy Flip Jan 2016
Poetry in free verse
Doesn't need to rhyme
Or have any
Discernable structure.

It is
The best kind
For aspiring writers
Who lack

Such as
Full yea free verse
Jan 2016 · 423
Every year
Candy Flip Jan 2016
This time last year,
I thought I was the ****.
Turns out I was not the ****.
This year, I am the ****.
I am the ****
Jan 2016 · 432
Hello Poetry
Candy Flip Jan 2016
A lot of
The poetry
On this website
Is very
Jan 2016 · 455
Candy Flip Jan 2016
The clock has turned
its round face towards me
and is beating me rhythmically
and relentlessly with its two
unflinching hands.
**** time.
Sep 2015 · 16.0k
Pissing Down a Waterfall
Candy Flip Sep 2015
I stood there,
Tall and proud,
Half yard behind
Death drop,
Vortex form at toes,
Put fish world in spin.
Crush moss trees with
Splashing feet.
One long gaze
Left to right,
Miles of pool and stream
Spelling poetry in cursive
Through eroded landscape.
Zip down,
Junk out.
Open gates of flesh tap
Muscle relax,
Fresh release
Of human nectar.
Light separation
Casting rainbow shimmer,
A dancing upright
Tower of liquid.
Gravity outstretch
Palm grip
And connect
Via web of
Golden pour,
Chaps eye to
Mother earth.
A converging
Of torrents,
Saturating transparent terrain
With saffron and lemon.
The taste in a frog's mouth
Of sweet ammonia.
And donation over.
A momentary meld
Of man and nature.
Those few seconds
Putting context into me:
At one with the scenery,
An extension of environment,
A limb of creation.
Sep 2015 · 393
Sports Direct
Candy Flip Sep 2015
Sports Direct
Dot Com.
Number one.
Sep 2015 · 264
Sanex Men
Candy Flip Sep 2015
Sanex Men.
You make my pits
Smell nicer
Than yesterday.
Sep 2015 · 344
Sep 2015 · 2.2k
Entropy will fuck you.
Candy Flip Sep 2015
Entropy will *******,
Brutally, and without consent.
You think you're special?
You're the universe's *****.
Not only that,
You're one of the universe's billions of *******.
And on the day of judgement,
The universe will gather all its little *******,
And **** them, in one spectacular ****,
Of light and energy,
Order and disorder.
A grand bukakke,
Flooding space and time in a tidal wave of cosmic ****,
But as you're floating around,
Your energy distributing evenly,
You get the last laugh.
You have tempted and tickled the universe,
Toward an unachievable goal.
The ****** that can never be reached:
The state of perfect entropy.
Sep 2015 · 484
Candy Flip Sep 2015
I'm a shadow, you're a fire.
As your flame gets lower, I grow higher.
As you flicker and sway in the ambiance of the night,
I'm made to dance in the absence of your light.

— The End —