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I'm the irreverent boyscout you can't trust that's no help
Cowardice and gluttonous
But hell can I start a fire.
I don't listen, I'm not nice
purity I don't recognize.
I do my own thing,
I never courtesy.
Oh **** can I scream at wrongs.
I'm the grungy kind of disloyal,
You know the sin of the unclean.
My face is never cheerful
And I'm rude to everything.
A scout is
Breanna Stockham May 2015
You quickly approach
A puddle of mud
Small enough to step over
But you thought it'd be fun
To splish and splash
And make a mess
But it's dirtied your face
And ruined your dress

You stomp out of the puddle
It has ruined your day
You look back in anger
And head on your way

But what is to blame here,
The action or trouble?
The mud or the splashes?
The person or puddle?

Don't walk into mud
Then complain of the mess
If you want to stay clean
Just watch where you step

Not all, but many outcomes
Are up to us
So be careful that your actions
Will lead to what you want
Perri May 2015
I just pulled my clean sheets
duvet cover
and pillow cases out from the dryer.
I will wrap myself in them
basking in their warmth,
the warmth I don't get to feel from a living thing,
before putting them in their specific places;
taking in the sweet scent of vanilla
each thread is coated in
instead of the scent of you.
Poetic T May 2015
The little vacuum wished it would
Grow up and be like its cousin, the
Bag less wonder, he could clean
Places where others couldn,t dream
Of, he was the three wheeled wonder,
The little vacuum wanted to be like
So much and more.

He was taken out of his box twice a
Week, his mother was the toaster his
Dad was a fridge, she made him toasty,
But he gave her the shivers, but in a
Good way my family are like others for sure.

Buttons pressed on and off, his hose was
His nose all kinds of things he sniffed up
From crumbs to socks. But the smell always
Blocked his nose and he did sneeze, out
Come the sock, dust and all, where once
Their was clean carpet there was dust and
Mouldy apple core.

Was it the sock or the apple moldy with
Colour of boggy green and rottern black,
How long had that been inside rotting at
His core. He felt not so good, every time
Turned on he would blow a cloud of dust,
Not ******* it back.

He was down, his hose was not at its best,
He felt like he,d ****** up a cactus, and
The taste was like a soggy moggy or the
Stinkest cheese mixed with a wet sock could
You imagine that.

His mother said you need to keep toasty,
His dad gave him the cold shoulder and
Said son man up, that was the end of that.


So they took him out of the box, thoughts
Went through the little vacuums switch,
Would he end up like uncle larry. He was
A proud drill but one day he could keep it
In, it feel out they said a ***** was lose, that
Was the end of that. Last I heard he was
Recycled, his parts now used everywhere
Scary is that.

So I was lifted out, my nose off it came they
Were washing it under the tap,They opened
Me up to look inside, I felt air in my insides
A weird feeling is that, a bag they took out
Looking worse for wear, had that been inside
Me since they had first unboxed me, gross they
Said was it me I thought, but it was the bag in fact.

They were gentle as they washed my insides,
It tickled me I let out a giggle, they looked at
Each other was that you, not me could have
Been the cat.

Refreshed I felt as they put my hose on
I could breath once more and fresh scents,
Not the smell of a wet moogy, how much
Better was that. A new bag they put in me,
Then closed the cap, I waited for the switch,
Nothing happened, was I to be like uncle
Larry, but they hadnt plugged me in how
Silly is that.

So a whoosh and a sound and I sounded great,
I felt like I was new out the box, so proud was
I, that I cleaned the whole house in record time
In fact. So this is my tail of the little vacuum,
Who was under the weather, but if he,d only
Washed regularly but he cant be blamed for that.

He was a happy and knew one day he would
Grow up to be like his bagless cousin and
Make his dad chill out be proud of him, his
Mother she was already proud of what he did
Around the house.
Cat Fiske May 2015
the sparkles in the hand sanitizer she uses,
is as sparkly and blue as her eyes,
and like her soul was made of the stuff,
she longed to be contained in its bottle,
being told when she could help the wounds from getting anymore worse,

she wanted to feel like she could prevent the sickness that filled her mind,
in anyone else's,
she wanted to save everyone from hurting too bad,
but the eyes that sparkled blue,
hid her tears behind black liner,
hoping the redness would surpass,

just never getting anything you deserve,
and feeling less than seeing nothing but the blackness of close eyes,
like close hearts of those who shut her out,
she just wants to feel more,
and everyone else to feel the same,

*why I loved her cleansing eyes,
and every thought in her smart beautiful mind,
Love poem
Will Rogers III May 2015
I had one of those dreams
One that you remember,
Like a long hug from a close friend
Or the present you received from your brother.

For the first time, I knew I was dreaming.
And I did not want to see it come to an end.
And so I treated it like a gift from above.

In this dream,
I was falling,
falling,
falling down.

I fell in pitch darkness with
Nothing around me but cool,
still air I fell through.

I was not afraid
For I knew there was no bottom;
No end to my descent into the black.

I felt free, comfortable and safe.
I flipped and dove, twirled and turned.

And I think God was saying,
“William, live life to the fullest, You are in my hands.”
[composed on May 21, 2014]
Emptiness filled every chasm in my flesh.
Seeping through the rags I used to hide my exposed wounds.
Those filthy ***** rags, muddied with my shameful bloodied mind.
I just want to be clean and whole.
Clean and whole.
Will laird May 2015
I used to grieve for the passing of youth,
and long for the endless procession
of yesterday’s promise,

while the soul mourned its sad song
of grievous wrongs.

the shattered landscape of twisted dreams and wasted want,the demise of desperate affection and the birth of regret–the hollow home of hate and horror.

I used to tilt my face to the moon, its lambent light lost in chemical corruption and unshed tears
. Eyes blind to the monster in my midst

I used to sleep the sleep of the dead, and awaken with deadly need, soul broken, my only consolation
the comfortable dread of the ******

I used to sleep.

And dream the dreams of hell and wish that angels really dwelt in the land of immortality…
axr May 2015
It's so lovely to know that I haven't pressed the blade to my skin in a year.
Anistasia May 2015
I traded ***** pixels, sold my soul
for a bathtub full of this cold city water,
to let it dampen the dissonance between the long talks, screams, and silence and
wash my memory clean.

I severed what I just ****** could not untie and floated north
to be lifted to the sky-island rooftops and above and
finally feel light.

Instead, my skin is crumpling like trash and
still I find my fingers crawling down my throat,
depressing,
the only way I know how to release
all the things I swallow whole
and let sink without bubbles.
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