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 Jun 2019 Hurble B Burble
LizO
It wasn't a ****,
Honest!
It was my shoe rubbing the floor,
I promise!
Ok,
So the noise can't be recreated,
I still don't want this debated.
I.
Didn't.
****.
I hope I don't get asked to leave HelloPoetry for this one! If I make just one person laugh I'll be happy :-)
Someone told me to write about something I'm passionate about, I hope they don't think this is it, haha
It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
It’s been long since I last have some to drink
The goddess of liquid muse no longer recognizes me
Silently taking my inspirations away as punishment
Words no longer flow like rivers after rain

Oh melancholy how I miss you
Or is this just pure sadness and emptiness that’s speaking?
Can you still label it as melancholy if you don’t find delight in it?
Oh how I miss the good old days of painless melancholy

I’m trying desperately to vent, to rant ,to find someone who can depend
Maybe you can but it's likely not going to make sense
My troubles are a thousand layers of Baklava that I didn’t bake
Everything is a phase I know but time don’t exist when you are on a trip

I’m playing this game of life like I’m in junior varsity again
Thought I had it all together, what a fool’s paradise did I live in?
Short fused, restless anxiety; agitation running like a ticking time bomb
I say “Hi, how’s it going?” with a smile but the inside is ******
I rambled under influence.
 Mar 2019 Hurble B Burble
Iska
We spend all of this time
searching our souls and
picking apart our brains
wondering how we fell so far
we look in the mirror to practice
our grins and blatant white lies
in an attempt to cover the dishonesty
behind the sentiment "i am perfectly fine"
If somebody told you
This is the end
And if you knew those words to be true
Would you do things different

Would you be kind to your neighbor
Call up your friends
Set a meet and greet with your enemies
To make amends

Would your main focus
Be on that last breath of life
Or would it go unnoticed
With the fact that you're dying

Would you marvel at all
The mess of debt you collect
All the now worthless stuff
That fills your life and your head

You can't take it with you
Is what they always say
So why is our grip so tight on it
All the way to the grave

If you were told that the end
Was one heartbeat away
What would that truth do to you
And would you even change
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