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Ako Apr 2016
I'm a
Web Developer
Which is
The politically correct term
For
Professional Stalker.
Everyone currently needs to realize it's the first of December tomorrow.

I used to constantly think about how this boy broke my heart, and how i will never get over him.

I used to hate my adviser when i was still in high school, thinking she hates me more than i do to her.

I used to feel embarrassed when people stare at me. I was once a paranoid and all i cared about was how people think of me:
"how do i dress?"
"how do i look when i smile?"
"do these boys think i'm cute?"
"these bunch of girls probably hate me"
"i'm so ugly"

I used to cry every night while talking to Him. I forgot to be thankful with what i had.

I used to hate myself, and this hatred nonetheless reflected on my own self. I became a chaotic, impulsive ***** who only thinks about how to fit in in this society.

I used to read sad poems.

I used to write sad poems. Poems about how i hate myself so much that i actually wished to die.

I used to think that my first love had to be some insignificant boy, when it should have been myself.

And now, just a few minutes before the clock hit 12, I finally realized how tough i am to survive in these hardships. I finally learned how to appreciate myself. And by this time, I am so sure about one thing: I'm so in love with myself and all my millions.
2 eyes full of mischief
And soft tender lips
A nose in the centre
And sometimes reddened, bright cheeks
A pair of ears in which to listen
A beard to keep it all warm
Attached to kissable neck and strong shoulders
For everyone else's burdens to form
Enveloping warm arms
Offer a steady embrace
Get brought in closer by the arms
And then fall deeply for the face
A chest made of ink and skin and hair
A thistle, a heart beating
Fluttering and feeling; all fair
A waist of which to hold
To caress, to admire
And what comes below
Ignites the fire
Legs that walk a thousand miles
And a fabulous **** too
Enjoy being 30 and a year wiser
In your gorgeous birthday suit
Just the trick for my imaginary lover's 30th birthday
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2015
Pretty soon I'm gonna wake up
in a ******* Summer heat wave,
sweating bullets down the barrel
of the **** I still can't handle.
                       (Like relation-
                       -ships or regret
                      managment or
                   barely making rent!)

I don't feel any different--
still a stupid, clumsy kid
swing-and-missing, striking out
and ******* breathing out my mouth
as I turn
           and I slouch
and shuffle back to the dugout.

I'M ON A RAFT ON LAKE DeSMET
IT'S GOT A FISH HOOK TEAR IN IT
I'M SINKING FAST
SO WHERE'S MY DAD!?
I ONLY SORTA-KINDA SWIM!
Only now the raft's a loan
for lessons learned that just won't float
and the lake's this ******* town,
my stupid habits and the time
I always waste on whiny frowns,
and hanging hats
               on embarrassing ****!

I'm 29 and I'm thinking
     that Catch-Up's just a game I'm not winning.
Under a pile of mail with a cheap grin,
cringe away and close the blinds
and I'm calling in sick--
yeah I'll call in again
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth.

I'm 29 for a week more.
     For fifty-two I swore not to keep score
with the scars from skinned up knees or my credit.
Lock the door and draw the blinds
and I'll call it a win--
yeah I'll call it a win
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth
                          *of a decade
                   containing my biggest loss.
I have these bad habits of getting older and of listening to Bomb The Music Industry!
Sarah M Gillihan Dec 2014
I’m sorry world

For delivering a girl

Who is weak and naive

With her mind in a whirl

With her heart in a box

That may never be unlocked

I’m a broken

torn-up

terrified girl

But what can I say?

As I hold the blade

This is a broken

torn-up

terrified

World.
It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat
every movement was stylized and expositional
the faintest grin
the miniscule teardrop
even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated;
encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography.

It was an opera in that we yawned,
shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call.

It was an opera, but it was mostly life
in that it had no final act, ending or closure.
revised in 1999 Andrew Marshall Alper
Moriah J Chace Aug 2014
Monsters don’t hide under the bed
they can’t come out
and scare you out of the
comfort of your sheets

Monsters aren’t literal
they don’t have meat
and bones
and morrow
and fur of their own

Monsters are souls
lost, misguided characters
looking for a light at the end of the tunnel

Monsters are peoples
searching for a reality outside of themselves
attempting to rule themselves
without order

Monsters are missing
a part of themselves
and only find it
by stealing that piece of me
which I need to love
to live
to breathe
Esz-Pe-Bea Jul 2014
The Intersection
of Interruption and Intermission.
Act 2 has been delayed.
We will come right back
After a word from our sponsors.

Remember when
Remember when meant
More than just a week ago?
When the hill was only
30 years high,
And still,
nothing held the urgency
that seems to permeate
our every desperate action.

I swear we had time, then,
It seems,
So much more than
Aging naturally eats away.
But the multitudes
have multiplied,
as they are want to,
And as the telegraph cables
Come down for corridors of Light,
The speed of time Grows,
Relatively accordingly.

And so, the second part
Of this two part play
Starts 10 years later,
while we dash madder than ever,
racing each other,
to first summit the Crisis Peak.
Now eat your cake.
Ryan Nyberg Jul 2014
in order to achieve eternal beauty
i'll bleed until there is no colour left.
i'll bite off every inch of my imperfect body
leaving just bones of any strength bereft.

in order to achieve eternal beauty
and to make you remember me so pretty
i'll sing farewell songs soon before I'm thirty
you won't see age conquer my skin or eyes with so much guilt in.
Martin Narrod May 2014
The likes of you I can't describe,
Yet I love to eat between your thighs.
The melody you spake to me
Unfolds my greatest sovereignty.
I crave to quaff all of your spit,
And swallow every drop of it.
Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh,
Those bare and supple ****** *******,
Your eyes that follow my firm gaze,
While we kiss and lick and misbehave.
I need to feel each piece of skin,
Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again.
It's such a treat to eat you whole;
I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.
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