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Mike Hauser  Nov 2013
Mike Hauser Nov 2013
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling

I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred  

From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat

Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling

The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact

How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer

Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost

Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues

More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose

80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time

How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's  in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling

I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Allen Wilbert  Oct 2013
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013

Running out of time, nothing left to rhyme,
no longer in my prime, listening to Sublime.
Used to smoke ****, slaves I have freed,
red I still bleed, listening to Creed.
I'm all that, I have kicked my cat,
my girl is a brat, listening to Ratt.
Invented a love potion, makes girls frozen,
many things I've broken, listening to Poison.
Buried in the sand, not what I planned,
I need a helping hand, listening to The Steve Miller Band.
Too many cell phones, can never get any loans,
love the show Bones, listening to The Rolling Stones.
Confessing all my sins, playing some violins,
dizzy from the spins, listening to The Thompson Twins.
Standing in the cold, my life is uncontrolled,
just got paroled, listening to Avenged Sevenfold.
Sprayed with mace, kicked in the face,
stuck in this rat race, listening to Three Days Grace.
Working the graveyard shift, lots of sand I must sift,
my life needs a lift, listening to Taylor Swift.
Living in Illinois, tired of hearing noise,
losing all my poise, listening to The Beach Boys.
No hands on the clock, it's me people mock,
dryer stole another sock, listening to Kid Rock.
Music has made me what I am,
loving the hairbands and the glam.
Hard rock is all I know,
how could you not like Ugly Kid Joe.
Heavy metal is where it's at,
all the older bands are bald and fat.
Top forty isn't half bad,
every year it's a different fad.
Disco and grunge had a short stay,
Nirvana and Pearl Jam, get too much air play.
Hip hop and rap has been around to long,
can they even sing a real song.
Nothing will ever beat the eighties,
spandex, hair and all the ***** ladies.
My two favorite songs are Sister Christian,
and Here I go Again,
those songs remind me of way back when.
Country, well that will always ****,
rednecks, Nascar, hunting and a giant truck.
Fin de partie  Jan 2014
Fin de partie Jan 2014
I gave birth to my mother yesterday.

There she is- running around,
laughing about- dead dolls in
hand, yellow hairbands and
blue tees.

Perhaps she was not mine to
give birth to- perhaps I was

I had painkillers for breakfast.
To-night, I dine on my mother's

I dined on whispers yester-night.
To-night, I write the stories.
brooke  Jan 2013
brooke Jan 2013
Drives a part of me mad
thinking about that bunk
bed soaked in my perfume
how you ******* her, midst
my hairbands
(c) Brooke Otto
the Sandman  Apr 2015
Love Me
the Sandman Apr 2015
Would you love me with blue-stained hands,
in the bleary hours of sand-crusted haste?
Would you love me in oversized sweatshirts and sweaty hairbands,
when I have ink on my fingers and creams on my face?

Would you love me barefoot in splotchy grass,
after my ankles have turned brown and green?
Would you love me when I'm crass and when I'm slacking off in class,
or doodling in the corner of a notebook in a dream?

Would you love me anyway
and, if it's not too much trouble,
would you love me every way?

Would you love me as much in a push-up bra
with red-stained lips and curled (combed) hair,
when I love with all the love I have
in the hope of getting some loving back?

Love me fierce and love me gentle;
Love me till all my love is gone.
hold me close till I am warm.

To trying and failing and trying again
because hope springs eternal
in our foolish hearts.
Loose clothes
I’m restricted within
hanging to my knees
my own cocktail party dress

Your attention served on a platter of horderves
small, insufficient to fill
feeding off finger sandwiches
I wouldn’t dare
touch with bare hands

unable to unbutton
oh, boys and girls,
it’s so easy to undress each other;
buttons line up on opposite sides
clothes caught in the line of fire
hung out to dry

Billy Mays can’t save your slip
oxiclean, oxycodone
I’ll hide my ****** braisers
in a creaking chest
while mine lies open
pandora’s box
I can’t find the lid to

I’ll break
worn out hairbands
I can’t contain
what chains my cotton
mouth too dry, pressed
dried tulips
cracked, two lips

Heat & moisture of a summer day
iron-released steam
I’m burning the clothes
you can’t get me out of

One day,
I’ll be able to walk outside
a naked moon dangling
one eye to see
all that my bedroom shirts
Maria May 2014
She said it was gonna be tough

I didn't know it was going to be 1am still awake kind of tough

I thought I would be old enough now, strong enough now to stand up straight and on my own but I've never been on my own like that.
We were in this together from the beginning but he always ****** at keeping promises, and keeping it together.
And I always wanted to fix everything.
But we weren't broken, we began unassembled and we were to naive to even glance at the instructions so we put together this unbalanced time bomb of a thing, called it us. Called it trust, called it innocence. Calling it everything but the truth until we started calling each other out on our mistakes.
it just hurts man, it hurts like not being able to breathe, like being punched, it just hurts like I didn't think it could
I don't want to cry about him anymore, it all just hurts

It snows heavy and it snows quiet here

The light leaves this sleepy little town without a trace, without even the smallest of goodbyes to hold on to.

How heavy are these burdens that we carry on our shoulders through hallways, into classrooms
we crumple and fold our heartbreak and failure between textbooks and notebooks and pencils

I have lost myself in more places than I have lost hairbands
There is no cheat sheet at the bottom of my book bag for this kind of broken

I play music loud these days, I put on headphones at 1 am so I can forget every angle of him
I don't want to think of him anymore, he has run me dry


Three­. I wake up every morning hung over from the times I kissed him in my dreams

Fou­r. And then come the nights when I think about him like crazy
These are moments I cannot escape. Nights where I lie awake.


Five. It is an unnerving cycle of my heart wanting so bad to put it all into words, and my mind thinking he doesn't deserve them.


Six­. The distance between the reality I want and the reality I have is so great that when standing between them equally, it is impossible to tell which is the lesser evil.
breaking up and breaking
N E Waters Jan 2016
There's only so much smell left in your powder box
I can tell.  I
only open it every once in a while,
to feel like a child
and hear your chuckle and smell
you were.

I didn't weep at your slipping away.
I could see your pain
I could hear it screaming under
your skin, your pride burning
your age raging inside you, I
watched you crumble and I blinked, I
looked away.
I didn't want you to have to feel your pain.

But you live with me here.
In an old box you don't remember that I have,
out of all the countless
shiny things you gave to me, this is the thing
I keep with me.

Your trash.
Your old powder box.

I open it from time to time and I smell you and I hear you rumble
and I see you
lipstick and hair and bright poofy hairbands.

Every time I open up your box it smells a little less like you.

I didn't fear your going because I knew that it was time
but I rue already the day when I might think on you
and not be able to find you.

When your powder box will just be a box.
Instead of the place I keep you inside.
Eleanor Sinclair  Jun 2018
Eleanor Sinclair Jun 2018
As the rusty metal slides across my vein
I can’t help but cry out in pain
Not the pain of the sharp *******
The pain of my mental deviation
The red beads don’t pile up like they once did
I don’t hurt myself the same way I did as kid
Now I have more finesse and poise
I make art out of my injuries and treat my blades like toys
They itch after they bleed but it serves as a reminder
Yet to my destructive nature I’m just a little bit blinder
With each minor slice and crimson lined splice
I attempt to soothe my inflamed skin with cold ice
Always scarring even the smallest ones count
No matter if it’s a scratch or a **** in any amount
I choose to bleed and hurt myself
I hide them with hairbands in optimal stealth
I deserve the pain I inflict on my arm
There isn’t a day where I don’t think of self harm
Age has no impact when you’re willing to die
You don’t outgrow these tendencies and if you think you can that’s a lie
It haunts you when you’re awake and even more when you sleep
You count the cuts on your wrists instead of counting white fluffy sheep
Stripped of my childhood I was taken too early
Twelve years old when I started down this path surely
Not knowing how my life would have changed
Not understanding how my thoughts would become so deranged
I look at my scars and I smile inside
I remember every event because with each one part of me died
Six years later I’m still learning to cope
I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel but I do my best to hope
Because although it’s not visible that doesn’t mean it isn’t there
It’s like the sun caressing your face or the wind brushing your hair
Maybe one day I’ll make it out of this abyss
But for now I’m stuck with death’s kiss on my wrists
Tamera Pierce Mar 2018
I looked into my chest for a reason;
weaved through the vines
and flowers rooted in my lungs.
I searched beneath the butterfly intestines,
the flowing river, and  
I ignored the drifters floating by.
I searched for what seemed like hours,
though it may have been but a minute.
I wanted so badly to find it.
But I didn't.
I  found my mother's necklace.
The one that I gifted her on mothers day
and she threw back on a later date.
I found the four notes that I wrote
when I hit rock bottom.
I found the time I fell into a creek
and felt the air leave my lungs
before my grandmother pulled me from the water,
then was pulled from me into a sickness.
I found the hands of every man who ever touched me.
found the first poem i ever wrote
found the razor blade
found the ripped jeans
car keys
but I didn't find my reason.
I didn't find the reason why she left me
the reason behind every lie.
The reason why I can't sleep at night
but she is sleeping tight.
The reason why I can roll so smoothly off her back
while she does nothing but stab mine.
I don't know if i ever will.
But I'll keep searching.

— The End —