Members
trying out this poetry thing. a journal of sorts.
Poems
Sarah Mann May 2018
To my dad.
Sarah Mann
May 2018
a t-shirt. one that is a terrible color.
my mom's least favorite, burnt orange.
it shares a disgusting likeness to rust.
and yet my dad would wear it everyday.
regardless of everyone around him's distrust.
"no one would dare to wear that in public"
my mom said, she was wrong.
perhaps when she married him she was not aware
of my dad's inexplicable connection to
this terrible color, or to t-shirts in general i guess
for about six out of the seven days a week regardless
he would be wearing that same shirt
for the almost 20 years they have been married
he can be found wearing that same shirt
however, there's a slight misconception
he doesn't have just one shirt
he has dozens of those nasty burnt orange colored shirts
and i suppose i forgot to mention that it's to support a football team
which seems shallow in theory but the aforementioned is
non-other than the texas longhorns.
my dad grew up there and attended college there.
he wasn't even a part of the team, and yet
for the last 35 years he's been wearing that same shirt.
i simply can't understand his undying affinity
i barely recognize the mascot of our own school team.
there is a certain dedication, a certain love that he must feel towards this place, towards that team.
however as i'm writing this poem i simply can't ascertain what it's all supposed to mean?
texas, a place of southern accents, cowboys, and racism.
not somewhere i typically tend to associate with even
though it was the place where i was born in
on a Tuesday almost 17 years ago at about 1pm
and of course i arrive
too early for my own good,
so i stayed in a hospital in ICU until they said i could
be taken home to a house i barely remember.
i wouldn't call that place home.
and yet, my dad wearing another variation of his classic burnt orange t-shirt today
that reminds me that's where i came from
i came from burnt orange beginnings.
and even though i might live in a blue ocean paradise as of now.
that's not where i started.
i tell myself that i am so much more that the place my life began in.
so instead of loving where i started and the color that comes with it.
i continue to despise that burnt orange color and compare it to rust
and all other things that fill me with unexplainable disgust.
but in the spirit of honestness. i don't hate it as much as i contest
don't ask me about it however because for sure all i’ll do is protest
but even when i was little seeing that orange shirt and ******* car
arrive in the driveway of my old school was truly the best
looking for that ugly orange shirt at the end of the day when he always asked me what i had learned
hugging that terrible orange shirt when i'm crying
after scraping my knee on the concrete
taking car rides with that orange shirt seated beside me
that seemed as long as a lifetime to go see the turtles on the north shore
after watching him present himself at a showing of a house we could never afford
watching that orange shirt fumble and stumble teaching me to drive
fixing my air conditioner with this orange shirt at 2am
after a nightmare session that left me too rattled to sleep
that orange shirt who attends these loud rock concerts that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy simply to watch me be happy
that awful orange shirt that has seen me sad and happy and everything in between.
you know seeing that orange shirt for nearly every day of my life
has conditioned me
and truly i hate it, the dustiness, the rustiness of it all.
it’s disgusting, appalling and above all terrible.
but for some godforsaken reason i also love it.
i love it with my entire heart,
i truly love that stupid orange shirt for all of its awfulness
and logically i know it's not the shirt but the person inside.
because my dad is one of the most amazing people
i know and i hate to admit
but that color has grown on me, because of him
it's become home to me,
it's my dad.
and maybe i'll never figure out why
my dad loves his college football team so much
maybe i don't need to
what i know is that while burnt orange may be a truly terrible color,
it's become home to me.
my mom's least favorite, burnt orange.
it shares a disgusting likeness to rust.
and yet my dad would wear it everyday.
regardless of everyone around him's distrust.
"no one would dare to wear that in public"
my mom said, she was wrong.
perhaps when she married him she was not aware
of my dad's inexplicable connection to
this terrible color, or to t-shirts in general i guess
for about six out of the seven days a week regardless
he would be wearing that same shirt
for the almost 20 years they have been married
he can be found wearing that same shirt
however, there's a slight misconception
he doesn't have just one shirt
he has dozens of those nasty burnt orange colored shirts
and i suppose i forgot to mention that it's to support a football team
which seems shallow in theory but the aforementioned is
non-other than the texas longhorns.
my dad grew up there and attended college there.
he wasn't even a part of the team, and yet
for the last 35 years he's been wearing that same shirt.
i simply can't understand his undying affinity
i barely recognize the mascot of our own school team.
there is a certain dedication, a certain love that he must feel towards this place, towards that team.
however as i'm writing this poem i simply can't ascertain what it's all supposed to mean?
texas, a place of southern accents, cowboys, and racism.
not somewhere i typically tend to associate with even
though it was the place where i was born in
on a Tuesday almost 17 years ago at about 1pm
and of course i arrive
too early for my own good,
so i stayed in a hospital in ICU until they said i could
be taken home to a house i barely remember.
i wouldn't call that place home.
and yet, my dad wearing another variation of his classic burnt orange t-shirt today
that reminds me that's where i came from
i came from burnt orange beginnings.
and even though i might live in a blue ocean paradise as of now.
that's not where i started.
i tell myself that i am so much more that the place my life began in.
so instead of loving where i started and the color that comes with it.
i continue to despise that burnt orange color and compare it to rust
and all other things that fill me with unexplainable disgust.
but in the spirit of honestness. i don't hate it as much as i contest
don't ask me about it however because for sure all i’ll do is protest
but even when i was little seeing that orange shirt and ******* car
arrive in the driveway of my old school was truly the best
looking for that ugly orange shirt at the end of the day when he always asked me what i had learned
hugging that terrible orange shirt when i'm crying
after scraping my knee on the concrete
taking car rides with that orange shirt seated beside me
that seemed as long as a lifetime to go see the turtles on the north shore
after watching him present himself at a showing of a house we could never afford
watching that orange shirt fumble and stumble teaching me to drive
fixing my air conditioner with this orange shirt at 2am
after a nightmare session that left me too rattled to sleep
that orange shirt who attends these loud rock concerts that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy simply to watch me be happy
that awful orange shirt that has seen me sad and happy and everything in between.
you know seeing that orange shirt for nearly every day of my life
has conditioned me
and truly i hate it, the dustiness, the rustiness of it all.
it’s disgusting, appalling and above all terrible.
but for some godforsaken reason i also love it.
i love it with my entire heart,
i truly love that stupid orange shirt for all of its awfulness
and logically i know it's not the shirt but the person inside.
because my dad is one of the most amazing people
i know and i hate to admit
but that color has grown on me, because of him
it's become home to me,
it's my dad.
and maybe i'll never figure out why
my dad loves his college football team so much
maybe i don't need to
what i know is that while burnt orange may be a truly terrible color,
it's become home to me.
Written a while ago for NYDPS.
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
Shirt By Versace
Bunhead17
Nov 2013
[Intro:]
'Sace, 'sace
'Knock one, 'knock one
Mustard on the beat, **
[Hook:]
Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn
Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn
[Verse 1: Kirko Bangz]
I just bought a shirt for tonight, **
And it cost five-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
I seen a bad ***** at the light, oh!
My car cost two-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
Uh, got 'Sace on the chain
Louis, that's my side **. Versace, that's my main
'Sace in the car so that's 'Sace in the lane
All day I dream about Versace on the linen
****** at work and now she bugging me. Versace John Lennon.
I only want the ***** if she expensive
**** the ** in Versace, had some boojie *** children
Doing what I’m suppose to do
I'm in Versace my ****** they in 'Sace too
Ain't no fun unless we all get some
If I'm *******, then my ******, they ******* too
[Hook:]
[Verse 2: French Montana]
Hundred-Thou' what I'm buying here?
Talking lion head (***** better **** sumn!)
Hundred-Thou' on these Cuban Links.
Medusa Face (***** better **** sumn!)
And my shirt eight-hundred
And just copped a honey (***** better **** sumn!)
These bottles they hundred
I just copped a hundred (Man, ***** better **** sumn!)
Got syrup by the liter. *****. Homie, Ima beat it
Catch the ***** like Jeter haa
Picture a ***** balling the ***** get to calling
******* get to fallin
Kamikaze. Shirt by Versace
Know my diamonds flash paparazzi
Give a **** about a hater
I be getting to the paper
**** ***** get your weight up haa
[Hook:]
[Verse 3: YG]
It's YG 400!
Shirt Versace, ******* is a hobby
I love a ***** that **** **** so sloppy
In high school she was a **
Hundred dollar bills on the floor
***** you better **** sumn!
And that's straight up
I prefer a bad ***** with no make-up
I got my cake up. Ya'll playas say sumn
I'm never paying for ***** and I'm never going bankrupt
My shirt's Versace. ***** red like Rudolph
Try to rob me I'll **** back that shooter
Trying to count how many ******* ***** I ate
Why you do that? Cuz I love how it taste. Ooo!
Me and Kirko on that purple
Geeked up like Urkel
Middle fingers in the air I don't trust you *******
Spent my money on me so I can ******* *******. Ooo!
[Hook:]
[Verse 4: G-Haze]
Got a shirt by Gianni
In your main ** that's where you can find me
Why these haters want to mean mug me
Cuz I'm coming down clean and they ******* wanna **** sumn
Trick you better **** sumn
Stepped in the party make a ***** wanna cuff sumn
Po-Po that's a No-No
Give me Ocho-Cinco!
Uhh, **** that ****** by Versace when I hit from the back
She gon' call me "Papi" while she sit up on my lap
Sip syrup lean and I got it from the trap
But I ain't a dope boy
Shirt by Versace got me feeling like a coke boy
Gold grillz, gold chain, LMG be the game
***** you better **** sumn!
'Sace, 'sace
'Knock one, 'knock one
Mustard on the beat, **
[Hook:]
Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn
Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn
[Verse 1: Kirko Bangz]
I just bought a shirt for tonight, **
And it cost five-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
I seen a bad ***** at the light, oh!
My car cost two-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
Uh, got 'Sace on the chain
Louis, that's my side **. Versace, that's my main
'Sace in the car so that's 'Sace in the lane
All day I dream about Versace on the linen
****** at work and now she bugging me. Versace John Lennon.
I only want the ***** if she expensive
**** the ** in Versace, had some boojie *** children
Doing what I’m suppose to do
I'm in Versace my ****** they in 'Sace too
Ain't no fun unless we all get some
If I'm *******, then my ******, they ******* too
[Hook:]
[Verse 2: French Montana]
Hundred-Thou' what I'm buying here?
Talking lion head (***** better **** sumn!)
Hundred-Thou' on these Cuban Links.
Medusa Face (***** better **** sumn!)
And my shirt eight-hundred
And just copped a honey (***** better **** sumn!)
These bottles they hundred
I just copped a hundred (Man, ***** better **** sumn!)
Got syrup by the liter. *****. Homie, Ima beat it
Catch the ***** like Jeter haa
Picture a ***** balling the ***** get to calling
******* get to fallin
Kamikaze. Shirt by Versace
Know my diamonds flash paparazzi
Give a **** about a hater
I be getting to the paper
**** ***** get your weight up haa
[Hook:]
[Verse 3: YG]
It's YG 400!
Shirt Versace, ******* is a hobby
I love a ***** that **** **** so sloppy
In high school she was a **
Hundred dollar bills on the floor
***** you better **** sumn!
And that's straight up
I prefer a bad ***** with no make-up
I got my cake up. Ya'll playas say sumn
I'm never paying for ***** and I'm never going bankrupt
My shirt's Versace. ***** red like Rudolph
Try to rob me I'll **** back that shooter
Trying to count how many ******* ***** I ate
Why you do that? Cuz I love how it taste. Ooo!
Me and Kirko on that purple
Geeked up like Urkel
Middle fingers in the air I don't trust you *******
Spent my money on me so I can ******* *******. Ooo!
[Hook:]
[Verse 4: G-Haze]
Got a shirt by Gianni
In your main ** that's where you can find me
Why these haters want to mean mug me
Cuz I'm coming down clean and they ******* wanna **** sumn
Trick you better **** sumn
Stepped in the party make a ***** wanna cuff sumn
Po-Po that's a No-No
Give me Ocho-Cinco!
Uhh, **** that ****** by Versace when I hit from the back
She gon' call me "Papi" while she sit up on my lap
Sip syrup lean and I got it from the trap
But I ain't a dope boy
Shirt by Versace got me feeling like a coke boy
Gold grillz, gold chain, LMG be the game
***** you better **** sumn!
i Love this song... lyrics "Shirt by Versace" By: Kirko Bangz ft French Montana, GHaze, & YG.
Krusty Aranda Mar 2014
One Lavender Scented Shirt
Krusty Aranda
Mar 2014
It was late, around 8, when I picked you up from the other side of town.
We had a surprise, last minute guest, or at least it was a surprise to me. Still I did not care. You were still with me, and that was all that mattered.
You had been in a perfume exhibition. The plethora of aromas impregnating my car.
We drove back to my place; I opened the door for you.
You never fully liked my chivalry, but I refused to stop being so.
We both went to my room. Your sister sat down on the computer. We closed the door behind us, and we were all alone.
You asked me if I had an old shirt you could borrow. You were kind of sick from all the perfume already.
I gave you a white shirt, and turned my back to you as you took your shirt off, exposing your dellicate, soft skin, and changed into my simple, old, white shirt.
You said "Why do you turn your back? I'm not fully naked, and I don't mind you seeing me like this.".
I was too much of a gentleman to watch her before she was dressed again.
Once in my old shirt, we laid on my bed, under the covers, and just held each other tight.
I stared into your eyes, and you stared into mine. I knew what you had been saying was nothing but I lie.
"I'm sorry, but I don't like you that way.". Yet there you were, with me in my bed.
Without a word I got closer and closer. You knew my intentions, and you went with the flow.
My lips met yours. Your lips met mine. For the first time I had kissed you, and I didn't want it to end.
That kiss was so tender, so soft, so caring. Right then I knew I wasn't mistaken for falling for you.
We kissed many more times that night. Each kiss better than the last one. You even said you had never been kissed like that before. So pasionate yet so soft. So loving and so caring.
A knock on my bedroom door, and your sister reminding you it was time for you to leave.
We got out of bed, and put our shoes on. You changed back into your shirt, and gave me back my old, white shirt.
We kissed goodbye, before letting your sister see us, and I took you back home. We smiled at each other, said goodnight, and we both went home.
When I entered my room, a scent still lingered on; on my sheets, on my clothes, on my memory, on my soul, and on that one old, white shirt.
The scent lingered on for days, weeks even, before, slowly, fading away into the air, and still that shirt held it, not physically, but, in my heart, it still smells of lavender, like that day you wore it, like the day after.
To this day I keep that shirt. It may have lost its scent, we may have fallen apart, but it still reminds me of that lavender smell that takes me back to the most passionate love I ever felt.
We had a surprise, last minute guest, or at least it was a surprise to me. Still I did not care. You were still with me, and that was all that mattered.
You had been in a perfume exhibition. The plethora of aromas impregnating my car.
We drove back to my place; I opened the door for you.
You never fully liked my chivalry, but I refused to stop being so.
We both went to my room. Your sister sat down on the computer. We closed the door behind us, and we were all alone.
You asked me if I had an old shirt you could borrow. You were kind of sick from all the perfume already.
I gave you a white shirt, and turned my back to you as you took your shirt off, exposing your dellicate, soft skin, and changed into my simple, old, white shirt.
You said "Why do you turn your back? I'm not fully naked, and I don't mind you seeing me like this.".
I was too much of a gentleman to watch her before she was dressed again.
Once in my old shirt, we laid on my bed, under the covers, and just held each other tight.
I stared into your eyes, and you stared into mine. I knew what you had been saying was nothing but I lie.
"I'm sorry, but I don't like you that way.". Yet there you were, with me in my bed.
Without a word I got closer and closer. You knew my intentions, and you went with the flow.
My lips met yours. Your lips met mine. For the first time I had kissed you, and I didn't want it to end.
That kiss was so tender, so soft, so caring. Right then I knew I wasn't mistaken for falling for you.
We kissed many more times that night. Each kiss better than the last one. You even said you had never been kissed like that before. So pasionate yet so soft. So loving and so caring.
A knock on my bedroom door, and your sister reminding you it was time for you to leave.
We got out of bed, and put our shoes on. You changed back into your shirt, and gave me back my old, white shirt.
We kissed goodbye, before letting your sister see us, and I took you back home. We smiled at each other, said goodnight, and we both went home.
When I entered my room, a scent still lingered on; on my sheets, on my clothes, on my memory, on my soul, and on that one old, white shirt.
The scent lingered on for days, weeks even, before, slowly, fading away into the air, and still that shirt held it, not physically, but, in my heart, it still smells of lavender, like that day you wore it, like the day after.
To this day I keep that shirt. It may have lost its scent, we may have fallen apart, but it still reminds me of that lavender smell that takes me back to the most passionate love I ever felt.
I wish I could re-live that day.