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Sean Flaherty Apr 2014
You weren’t worth the
Hundred dollars it cost to
Keep you in my car. 
Princess got poached by the
League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals.

I’d spit venom in your direction, if 
Poison meant anything to you. But
Akin to most things, so sub-human,
You miss the world moving around your
Ever pulsating veins, and repel these
Toxins with a slip of the tongue.

Around you I could line
Bodies of those you’d loved and left.
Each clasping hands with one another,
Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can
Deal out. And

In the center of the circle you’d
Stare, stunned by your state of
Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned
For the safety of your
Rotting consciousness.

One by one, I could set these men
On fire, and hand you a place 
Where your head could be danced off.
Drunken and diving heart-first into
The burning lake of a 
Surfable crowd. Since that’s
All we are, serfs.

I hope the fire gets too close to your
Gorgeous face. I hope the
Love you receive is no more likable
Than a few more licks from the flames.
The scars couldn’t sideline you.
No one can stop ****.
I was mad. I'm not anymore. But I was so mad. And the result justified the reasoning.
Jaide Lynne Apr 2014
Dear Best friend,

You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.

Dear Best Friend,

I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.


Dear Best Friend,

I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery *****, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.

I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.

Dear Best Friend,

I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.

Dear Best Friend,

You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.

You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.

You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.

Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place

You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.

Dear Best Friend,

I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.

Dear Best Friend,

I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)

Dear Best Friend,

I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.

Dear Best Friend,

At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.

So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.
So, I wrote this for my best friend...
Trev is a young dude and he needs to be liked by all




Trev is having a hard time getting teased by his little bro Markie, who was a real little cool kid, and when I say cool kid, I mean he does all the popular things, and all the rough cool kids loved my his brother Markie a lot, and Trev, is just a regular joe who likes to just go down the shop and have drinks, sitting down talking about fathers who were fairly strict, mind you Trev had all respect for his father, but that doesn't stop him from ratting him off to friends over a nice cold can of coke.
You see Trev had a main best mate named Heath, who was a real friend, well at least Trev thought that as Heath always seemed to listen to him, but Heath wanted really to be a cool kid, while Trev just wanted to talk about the things he watched on the TV, and he said a lot about that new music show named Later with Jools and Trev said that Jools Holland was a real hero for music fans to see their favourite music, and I know that sounds like what cool kids talk about, Trev, who, yes I haven't told you, as autism, and he gets obsessed with music, and every conversation was about music and being cool calm and collected.
Heath, didn't want to upset Trev but really he didn't want to listen to every conversation about music, you see it drove him nuts, and Heath didn't have it in his heart to tell Trev, because it could hurt his feelings, but really Trev could throw a tantrum, and Heath cared too much for that.
So Heath became Trevs only friend and came over to his house every weekend to play with him, but when Trev bought out the toys and started to talk about baby talk, you know he was only 8, but Heath didn't speak like that, and even Trevs younger brother Markie who still was using his mothers pet name as his name at 6, he was more grown up, and Heath often tried to tease Trev with his brother, and yes they teased Trev, and Trev was getting very angry, but he kept on trying to talk to his friend, he said ' who do you want to win today in the first round of the AFL, and Markie said how about we choose the team you aren't going for, and then Trev told Heath to come to the shop to buy a drink, and talk about problems with our families, cause Trev was thinking that just because your family has enough money to support you, it still can be a nightmare trying to grow up in a family like that, and Heath, who was getting sick of Trev winging and whining, just said to him that he liked him, and despite of what he says to his brother, it is just a joke, but of course Heath is a kid, and he was a poor kid, so instead of saying what I just said he said, that is what he meant, he actually said, you know , yo, man, wots, happning, ya fams orye qui comply, which you know Trev thought was complete jibberish, and started to think that Heath didn't care about him and sort of gave him the cold shoulder treatment, and Heath sort of noticed the chemistry trying to actually understand, and said his jibberish, which was yo man wots up,
Yo dude, ya nid ta liten up, and Trev was tired of this language and started to wonder why a friend of his was talking like this, this talking isn't proper talking, it'total jibberish, sure he is nice to me, but he speaks this real spastic jibberish, it drives Trev nuts, but really, he has no friends, at school, but he was honest, in that he couldn't figure out what language he spoke, and his brother Markie who heard him wonder what these words were in his mind on his bed, Markie started to teaee his brother saying, you are so ****** *******, you don't know anything that cool kids know, you stupid old ****, he is being cool, you see, ******, he say, yo, ya doin nuttin rye, ya stipid and yo a fu-en ritarded, spaz and Trev really was hurt, mainly because of the way he said it, because really those words meanr nothing, you see they are just words to suggest that kids can tease people who are disabled, so they can't figure out their goings on.
This kind of teasing was going on for days and days, and Markie was a real cool kid, everyone liked him, yes, like all kids want, Markie was popular and then Trev and Markies father noticed that Trev was starting to feel low, and really he tried it make Trev feel better, and yes Trev was normal enough, but his autism kept him from expressing how he feels about Markie and his friends teasing him, and his father and mother sort of were starting to figure things out and when Markie got home, their parents told Markie to behave himself and stop teasing his brother, and then Markie jumped up and said yo da, u
No tes ma bro, u spikin I tun, and then their dad said, maybe, but he ain't like the other kids, he has autism, and you know he needs to feel like people care about him, and Markie  moved around saying I ain hippin he, and then their dad said, if you don't I will ground you for weeks, and Markie promised to make an effort to be nicer to Trev, and Trev really was excited, so excited, be started treating his brother Markie like Heath, and then he thought he was a cool kid, and yes, Trev wanted to treat Markie like a ******, but unknown to Trev, their dad told Markie to go easy on him, but Trev got hypo over the fact that he was a cool kid, kids even said he was like us, man, but still Trev was still too disabled to know young words, but it didn't worry him, because the time his new cool friends noticed it, they were getting too old to tease people that way, even Markie moved on in the adult way, yes maybe This is the time for Trev to be an adult and not worry about being told he's stupid, because only losers tease like Markie used to, because that is just childish, and everybody lived happy through their lives, even Trev, the end


Sent from my iPhone
RJ Days Oct 2018
Each sorrow is the child of a happiness
you thought would never end;
Every happiness is a sadness
I may not survive—
a brilliant October day
lying back in dock hammock suspended
quoting bits of Rilke and starlight anthems
the shadows cast by buildings and frogs
ink drawings made on August nights
by our beautiful chain-smoking artistette
admiring a giant spider friend who’d
spun her majestic web and vanished
while we were swimming
backdrop of bay and boys and cherries
creaky boardwalks under bare feet
and stickiest pine and sand darkness
photos over wing clouds below
creepy call to prayer from ancient Mosque
at twilight punctuating strange dreams
perfect reconciliation on hotel balcony
McDonald’s after soaring from Black Sea
to Bosporus Straight, edge of Asia
visible on the horizon and all of life
a nightmare from which I can’t get woke
terrorized by ***** donor bonesaws
homophobic maternal afternoon rejection
peace that passeth no understanding
when you’re a ******* genius or just
a few points lower sorry never enough
compassion leaking through pores
drawn out by steam more darkness
Eucalyptus perfumed
another flaccid experience on a stranger’s
bed recalling Hippocrates on the drive
away after more bad ***
shots of sauces and grilled roasted
poached lentils bespoke chickens finery
malodorous wafts limestone smoothed
by centuries of acidity oily tourist touches
but they’re in Mexico Australia India
we’re back at home twins calling
each day an error of time rounded off
the incorrigible quark refusing
to cooperate with Einstein choosing its
own entangled path and lighting fools
what beautiful skyline
what amazing celebrity capture
what nostalgic group assemblage
what **** cute puppy who’s no more pup
what swanky tailored look
what smiles what smiles what seriousness
the soft and supple features curves lines
practiced looks and wayward hairs
a simple flourishing according to the lens
so much that skin conceals and eyes
beer garden sidewalk orations
wedding after party for April fools
we were who dance grabbing rings
swinging wildly discussing the vulgarities
of gastronomy and digestion
tumbling into diners midnight offices
brick lined streets magical talks
demonstrations and ideas unbounded
carving pumpkins into likable politicians
we think are statesmen and wailing
when she loses winning a trophy case
buckling under weight of moral victory
the thought of skyscrapers lit
shining under heaven unsubtle insinuation
we’re better than all this nonsense
and stronger having raised this glass
and steel by our own hands, our parents
rather now maybe that’s confusion
erecting higher stairwells to escape
encroaching seas and bums below
all memory all happy every laugh
each rumination on the hours
kisses cocktails cuddles laughter
that perfect vest completed outfit
those thrift store jeans that shirt
that secondhand one speed bike
those lunches with the priest
those brunches with the students
those happy hours with the coworkers
those dinners with the beard
all interchangeable parts in show
theater of recollection one subway car
one taxi ride one bus to NY or DC
one flight to Seattle or Vegas
or some Floridian seascape, mansion
each cog or bit like paper currency
imbued with no value but buying
the totality of lived experience
from which to draw upon in sad elsewhere
—but they cut deep, well meaning though
whenever was now isn’t and can is blind
to what day will ever be when I can say
in truth now sadness isn’t.
How memories, even of happy times, can feel smothering when recalled from within the Bell Jar.
Sand Mar 2014
I’ve discovered the secret to life!
But, it may not be the most likable knowledge,
And, it definitely does not fall under “small-talk-poetry,”
Yet, it is known that everything-worth-knowing was once considered hideous.

What am I?
I’m human,
like you.

Like you,
I’m human,
What are we?

We are cells,
Cells made up of molecules,
Molecules made up of atoms,
Atoms made up of protons and neutrons and electrons.

Electrons…
The lightest charged particles,
Electrons…
Who weigh 1836 times less than a proton,
Electrons
Found a way to rebel.
Electrons
Repel the nucleic core.
Electrons
Push boundaries.
Electrons
Create space.

An atom is mostly empty space.

All of me is composed of atoms,
All of you is composed of atoms,
We are mostly empty space.

We are just reflections
Of this Universe
Staring back at each other.
Phoenix Feb 2018
You told me nobody wants you.
When did that happen?
I want you,
but I don’t see where I became
“nobody”.
I mean,
in my eyes I’m somebody.
In my eyes I’m somebody
likable and funny…
but I am pretty stupid.
And I mess up a lot.
But I am definitely not
“nobody”.
So when you tell me that nobody wants you, that-
that hurts!
Cause I don’t see how you can say that when someone is there
looking out for you every day,
because they care about you very,
very much.
I am not
“nobody”
so never say nobody wants you.
Because I want you.
And I’ll fight for you every day,
just say the word.
I think about you every day,
I wonder how you’re doing because I-
I can’t be there with you
all the time!
But that doesn’t mean I’m
“nobody”.
This is a poem I wrote for my friends, but it's also a vent.
Nolia Joy May 2015
He’s not like the others,
he’s not even a wholly likable child.

I mean, he has the cute face
high squeaky voice
chipmunk cheeks.

It’s his personality,
his attitude,
it’s the fact that he’s only 7 years old
and already hates the majority of what he’s seen of this wide world.

It’s the fact that he manipulates everyone’s words
until he’s made the collage that meets his ideal visage.

He’s more than a handful.
He’s even more than a whole village’s armful.

And though I know a part of its’ the diagnosis
it’s hard to keep that in mind
all the time.

(It’s hard to forgive an unlikable child)

Even harder as he swings insults your way,

as you have to take off running after him for the nth time this week.

It’s hard keeping a straight face,
keeping the unflappable demeanor
through every offense.

It’s hard not to scream,
curse,
cry,
  to remain the calm island in the face of the raging tempest.

But you have to.
(Even though he’s not the most likable child)

He is still a child.

And you’re loving compassion is stronger than his self destruction.
Àŧùl Aug 2020
I love her infantile eyes,
So deep and dark, with no lies.

I love her chubby cheeks,
So likable and lickable, with no ice.

I love her beautiful hair,
On her mandible so magical, with no lice.

I love her smiley curves,
So spicy, with no added spice.

I love her cute nose,
So precious, with no price.
My HP Poem #1880
©Atul Kaushal
Brandon Jul 2013
The man opposite the table of us ordered a dry sack rather ****** and loudly. Derek leaned back in his chair so that he was balancing on the back two wooden legs and shouted over to the man “I’ve got you’re dry sack right here" while grabbing at his crotch with his one free hand. His other of course being occupied with his seventh whiskey sour. By this point he had been ordering more whiskey than sour and his thirst was still far from quenched.

Next to him, Julie Ann laughed in her quiet way at the disgusted look on the mans face that Derek had insulted. She enjoyed Derek’s lack of restraint when he was drinking and the comments he would haphazardly say. Especially if it were directed towards the upper class. A class at one time she longed to be a part of but had since changed her mind. She flirted with the stem of her martini conjuring up boyish childhood fantasies to any man that was aware enough in his drunken haze to focus his eyes upon the stemware. Her seduction grew all the wilder the more her intoxication spread thruout the room. Julie Ann used her charm and looks as much as possible. She knew she would not always be the way she was and decided to live as hard as possible before her time; whether death, disease, or age; happened.

Her most recent fling, Franklin, sat beside her enamored as the rest of the men (and admittingly some women.) He nursed his death in the afternoon drink, one he felt the need to strictly remind that the mixologist behind the bar used absinthe and not Pernod, and watched Julie Ann’s animated movements. He made no illusions about his courtship with Julie Ann and was often quite boastful about it. Franklin was a hard person to like for moments longer than a few minutes and even less likable when the alcohol ran out. He would talk about his future with Julie Ann while she quietly rolled her eyes and never approached the subject of a future.

Nothing ever lasted long with Julie Ann except for cocktail hour.

I ordered my usual gin and tonic and watched the crowded restaurant in its busyness. Waiters were scurrying from table to table replacing drinks and bringing out large orders of food from the kitchen for the tables that could afford luxuries like eating. They swerved and dodged each other like an artful ballet or a war without casualties.

The man that ordered the dry sack quickly drank his aperitif and, upon further heckling from Derek, decided to skip dinner and leave. He paid his bill at the table and left a fifty cent tip for the waiter. He grabbed his jacket and wife by the arm and made his way towards the exit via a route that included our table. As he approached one could see the nerve swell inside him and as he neared even closer his mouth began to open before Derek opened his and said that if he dared to even utter a sound Derek would have him lying flat out on his back with his eyes rolled in the back of his head and his wife would be around back learning what a real man felt like.

The man stopped for a minute in his tracks and thought about his options. His wife eyed Derek with lust and was secretly hoping that her husband would open his mouth and say something but he never did. He squeezed her arm even harder, shook his head towards Derek, and walked out of the restaurant. A loud, raucous laugh exploded from our table.

Julie Ann was smiling a devilish grin and we all inquired as to what mischievous deed she was thinking. She took her left hand out from beneath the table and produced a wallet and opened it up to reveal the license of Mr dry sack. His name was Richard which we all agreed fitting.

While he was preoccupied with Derek, Julie Ann had reached around and pick pocketed him, stealing his wallet and the eight 100 dollar bills that he kept inside.

I asked for one of the bills and she handed it to me. I folded it into a paper airplane and set it into flight, landing on Richards table as the waiter had returned to clean it off. He unfolded the bill and looked around before stuffing it into the inside pocket of his uniform.

Julie Ann ordered another round of drinks and we drank and laughed and talked and danced and drank until 400$ of our newfound cash was spent.

After paying our tab we stumbled out into the cool night air and each went out into our own directions with promises to meet up again the following night and drink away the other 300$.
Unedited.
Umi  Aug 2018
Mute
Umi Aug 2018
On that day which caused my voice to disappear,
All those around me rejoiced and had a feast, celebrating this moment
The words I say brought people tremor, fear or just pure hatred,
Everyone hated them the moment I moved my lips to convey along side them in hope to find someone who could become even a friend.
I was of course wrong all along, deserted for the reason that they found what I said in some sense weird or obscure, maybe irrational,
Was it my means or my purpose that scared them away ?
My looks or my style of conveying to appear more likable to them ?
In the end it didn't even matter for a second, as their false smiles carried the message of their fake friendship and intentions.
Maybe now that I won't have to converse with sound any further, those words of mine might reach someones heart and touch it instead,
But that is simply a distant dream, because everyone hates the words I say, perhaps it is meaningless to seek meaning in my useless self,
All I can do now is to heave in sobs,
Left behind, I can no longer even cry,

~ Umi

— The End —