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Is Love your idea of perfect happiness?
Do you deplore yourself more, or others?
Is it the trite phrases you use most you despise
Or your own hesitant silence that bothers?

Do questions like this make you crazy?
Tickbox Yes, tickbox No, tick Maybe.

Is your arrogance your greatest extravagance?
Or that lying has become your talent?
Do you like most what you like in a Man
Or is your liking for Women just balance?

Do questions like this upset you lately?
Tickbox Often, tickbox Never, tick Maybe.

Which living person do you most admire?
Who are your favourite dead artists & authors?
Is your current state of Mind like Ice or Fire
Or are your Thoughts just shadows & monsters?

Do you think of failure Not At All or Greatly?
Tickbox Both, tickbox Neither, tick Maybe.

Lastly, what is your greatest regret?
Which inanimate object would you most like to be?
What do you prefer Focaccia or Baguette?
Is it Lunch not dinner, Sauce not Gravy?

Can we access freely your microphone & screen?
Tickbox Absolutely, tick Indiscriminately, tick Willfully.

This is not a Test, you are not being defined -
We seek, only to know and not to classify.
The Data is non-personal, no outcome specified,
It will help us to help you in these more trying times.

We want to subscribe you to being Spied Upon daily -
Tickbox Yes, tickbox Of Course, tick You-can-tick-FOR-me...

Tommy Randell  -  01st April 2021
The impetus & inspiration for this was the so called PROUST Questionnaire (qv), though the Poem takes a different spin...

No-one knows for sure where the English Victorian Parlour game originated or to whom we owe it's invention but these days such lists of Questions are everywhere online and in the real World - Vanity Fair, Inside The Actors Studio, &c.
Ces Jul 2020
Paralysis by analysis
overthinking life and all
its complexities...

I think:

Truth, what is it?
When everyone feels as if they
and feel
even ****
in the name of this 'Truth'

I ask why...

What's the basis for that certainty
Is it something born through analogy?
I see that we are all mistaken, guilty
Of that condescension!



The irony of this age of technological
is that it has become fancy
to crave disinformation

Truth is what we think we possess
in this great idiocy of the masses.
Ale Jun 2020
“What about me?”
I asked.
My whisper echoed
Against the glass.
The reflection
Whispered back,
“Never enough”.
I am my own worst enemy.
Chad Tannous Apr 2020
Ms. Del Rey says “the world is made for two”,
but her idea of two is some fresh hell;
it’s seems that Lana thinks a girl’s abuse,
is cinematic fodder one can sell.
The other woman sings about her man.
“sO pOPuLIiSt” with flowers on her head.
While some may come from poor & tell the tale,
Del Rey wears being poor like it’s a dress. 
But voices that she channels in her songs,
Bespeak a femme fatale alone, and they,  
Are both no one, and everyone in one.
The guardians of endless summer days.
Sonnet (without the last two lines)  about Lana Del Rey.
You don't owe anyone anything and everyone is different so embrace your uniqueness and live your life to the fullest.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
****** Analysis
by Michael R. Burch

This is not what I need . . .
as though I were a seed
to be planted,
with a stick and some string
until I emerge.
Your words
are not water. I need something
more nourishing,
like cherishing,
something essential, like love
so that when I climb
out of the lime
and the mulch. When I shove
myself up
from the muck . . .
we can ****.

Originally published by Unlikely Stories. Keywords/Tags: analysis, paralysis, psychoanalysis, words, nourishing, cherishing, essential, love, muck, ****, ***
Michael Stefan Mar 2020
She tied a black ribbon around my wrist
Like a dark lake reflecting moonlight
And in my enchantment, I missed
The ribbon was tied far too tight

She tied a black ribbon around my neck
So cold on my skin like ice
And in my fervor, I failed to see
The ribbon was knotted up thrice

She tied a black ribbon around my heart
Winding its way through my veins
She gave a tug, and I gave a start
As her ribbon turned out to be chains
This is a really dark poem that came about from being young and dating.  I was really into this girl who didn't view me the same way.  Instead of letting me down, she carried me along.  I was too stupid to see that I was being used and couldn't get out of the situation.  The poem is built on a simple lyrical rhyme structure.  Hope you guys like it!
Michael Stefan Mar 2020
Your arms grow tired
When you
Bear a heavy axe
Sarah L Jan 2020
I am uncertain of my body,
how strong it is, how little it appears that way
having hurled itself into danger several times
and coming out only with a few hand scars
see its muscle
see its fat, unneeded storage,
look and don't touch, please.

The soft thrumming of my heart
in my throat shows how strong it is,
sneaking its way up
to where it shouldn't be
see its battle scars
see its healing wounds--
still festering, a little raw.
look and don't touch, please.

I've got a strong jaw and a chin
with an irritated red galaxy on it,
an odd contradiction between
soft and hard--
see the constellation in my scarring,
a rude connect the dots you shouldn't be playing,
look and don't touch, please.

I look out from hazel glass,
flecked with hidden gold foil
you see if you stare long enough,
but staring would be rude--
see the one way mirror,
so that you stare at you and not me,
look and don't touch, please.

My fingers are long and spindly,
artist's hands,
the webbing in between makes them seem smaller--
see the raised marks,
see the wearing nailpolish,
my hands are an artist's hands too.
look and don't touch, please.
An analysis of some of my body.
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