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love;            why are you not in hearts anymore?
feelings;      do you even exist anymore?
kindness;    why have you left me alone?
sadness;      do you not leave me so I wont atone?
life;              why do you have to be so unfair?
fate;             do you have to act so cruel?
calm;           why are you only there in the Chaos?
sorrow;       will i ever let you go?
happiness;  haven't felt you around lately...
grief;           don't leave me, I've grown fond of you greatly...
tears;           I'm sorry, you'll have to hide forever...
smiles;        forgive me for faking you, to conceal all the terror...
eyes;            please stop screaming my soul's secrets...
heart;           let it all go and lets save your pieces

soul;            you are there, but are you alive?
"me;   can i yell everything out?"
random words
Druzzayne Rika Feb 2018
many days I feel it isn't worth it
it is better I end it
I just do not fit

Small disappointments
unfilled expectations
make my daily lessons
I am no longer surprised

gifted with so many unused liberties
armed with many facilities
having all basic amenities
why still unsatisfied?

my thirst for what?

but compare it to so many of them
where do my problems stand
should my opinions even matter

God still has to hear my many complaints
every other day
No wonder he doesn't listen,
I wouldn't too.

Blessed with so much
wasted it all
on being this bitter self I hate
my present state draws the ugly future
and the only cure
is to feel gratitude
on the things I still have
on my conscience who still cares
Lemon boy Jan 2018
If you want a rhythm I'll give you twenty, you want more rhythms?
Well Iv'e got plenty.
Red fish Blue Fish. Nothing new.
old fish new fish, walk a day in my shoes.
These rhythms are ridiculous, and sure it's a poem, but I'm tired of all this.
It's useless,
it's bland.
Get your boring poems off of my land.
And yes this poem *****, you could assume.
Because rhythming is useless, when trying to express, you feelings and thoughts.
It makes me depressed. Poems should be thoughtful.
Not just a rhythming typhoon.
But my real question is,
And what really matters most
Do you know
what rhythms with orange?
I made this on the bus and yeah. I suppose it's okay.
Okay so I wanted to answer some of your comments with saying. I know things can Rythm with orange. But in this poem it's not supposed to be taken literally. I don't know what your Interpretation may be but just a note from the poet himself.
is a familiar phrase
we like to flaunt
when we would like to utter a complaint
    about contemporary grievances
    god and the world & cetera

in doing so
we keep good company
from Socrates to Livius
    to Shakespeare, Goethe, Emerson,
    Whitman, Fitzgerald, Hurston, Vonnegut,
     Morrison, Angelou, Nabokov, etc.

I guess this is because
the times like these
are always those
in which we live
daisies Jan 2017
//but darling, we are writing our own story. some people are complaining bcs they desperately want to be part of our story//
written on December 9, 2016
Ami Shae Dec 2016
I so often wish I could find a cottage garden home
and hang just the right curtains,
plant beautiful flowers
take leisurely hot, steaming baths and showers
never again leave to go work in the grind
of dealing with customers
who have seemingly lost their minds...
just give me a cottage garden home
a few books to read
where my mind can roam
and allow me the quietness and solitude
just some peace and quiet -- shhh!!!
no, I'm not trying to be rude--
it's just that all day long I hear grumbling
I hear complaints galore
and my job is such that I can't ignore
the craziness of the public tis all too true--
so I really do NEED that garden cottage home
to escape and run away to...
This time of year retail really bites (well, on most days...)
Klvshp0et Nov 2014
My good morning
was followed by a statement
In which she said "I stank."
It was the cigarette stank
That made her utter the obvious complaint.
She doesn't know my struggle.
A mind of potential
with the heart of a saint.
Yet bound by demons
And voices that say "I can't".
I wish to tell her.
How they help my mind go blank
And away from the thoughts
That are as loud as voices.
How they help me think straight sometimes
And give me the courage
To make the right choices.
It's just remnants of my fall
From when my mind
Hit rock bottom and I was unable
To make the right choices.
All of my demons, I've fought them
And this is the smoke from the battle
In which they are engulfed
In its flame.
The ending of the cant's and aint's.
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.

Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
****, I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.

My good afternoon
Was followed by a glare.
A glare that married women
Should never think to dare.
She could see into my soul
And knew that all isn't fair.
Her beauty was one
That I could never compare.
So right back I would stare
Until something broke my attention
And again I begin to stare.
Until I pictured her bare
And being lost in lust
Covered in each other's hair.
Her eyes were flames of a flair
Flickering off in the distance
and Shining through the night air.
I want to reach you
And see what's up with that glare
But life isn't fair.
It has lead us to where we both
Are a separate pair.
Attempts to become close
Will be followed by no's or I can't
And how our meeting was too late.
Which will be her complaint.
The agony, I can not bare
So I will let it fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.

Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
****, I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
Another cigarette
Another cigarette
**** I have to smoke another cigarette.

My good evening
Was followed an expression
In which it looked like I stank.
Her face was the face
that God makes when we all sin.
Disappointment cloaked in forgiveness
And love.
She smiles as she gives me a hug.
I look at my daughter
And even with her I can feel the love.
When I'm alone I sigh.
My mind is a puzzle
And my true thoughts are shielded
with a muzzle.
So I let them fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
I just hope they excuse, my cigarette stank.
Eh. Not well enough.
You kept complaining
'bout those people corrupting
then afterwards you'll be saying
Money can't be brought alongside with you on the day that you die. Why are they being so corrupt?
Yet why aren't you trying to question thyself?
When in fact, you aren't any different.
Save, Save, Save
That's all you think about
Prices, Prices, Prices
I thought we were here to survive?
Money is an element for survival.
Why are you keeping every single dollar?
You always count your money as if it is your baby.
Complaints are all that I hear each day every time you pay.
Pffttt... Money lover... Keeps a *** of cash inside their bank accounts yet are way too afraid to spend it on things that they like. If ever they do, they'd complain afterwards. What the actual fudge? -_-
MST Nov 2014
We are raised with society surrounding us,
yet we feel the need to distinguish,
in-group ourselves with the outliers,
to live with our anguish.
In doing so we gain some right,
believing that different makes us better,
rather than live in that ignorant shroud,
and stand together loud and proud.
What we don't understand is in our drive to survive,
and seem entirely different,
we ourselves have joined a society,
and with that we have fallen into proprieties.
Hot Topic,  and the slop that is gangster,
we wear to create a wall,
between us and conforming society,
who unlike us never heard the call.
The call to greatness,
the call to art,
the call to pimping,
we all had a start.
And now we sit in our ****** homes,
(trying to) make money by day ,
thinking where we went wrong.
How did I fall out with so many opportunities,
where did I fall off the wagon?

Well kid, it happened when your pants started saggin,
when you wore the black to stick out from the white,
when you refused to try because nobody "got it",
and when you were always looking for a fight.
It's easy to put the blame on someone else,
how else can you live with such dissonance?
Maybe if you had shut up and listened,
instead of dirt you would be the one who glistened.
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