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Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Tell me, what is it like,
to crooked-roll the dice, to
always get snake-eyes, to keep
slipping on  ice?

Tell me why he talks, tell
me why he walks, the
way he does, like he's barefoot
on the coals.
He's barefoot on the rocks.

All those dice sit in your cup.
"C'mon girl, just fill 'er up."

And tell me why he laughs
at all those broken hands,
          and broken hearts,
      and palms of sand,
and crooked dice,
that fell, through
cracks, and on the lines,
out of their hands, into your eyes.

You said, "Sometimes, I see better,
when the sand up here is wetter. That girl
tried to take the gritty pain away —I didn't let her."

"The sand I put there, in her eyes," he said, "reminded her
of all her lies, and I never did forget her."
This dream poem was written in 2016.
Honestly, I don't even remember the dream this was based on, but it has a neat rhythm!
Dylan McFadden Feb 2021
Though no stick
In the forest
Is perfectly

But are
And bent
And deteriorate

A Man
Comes around
Who loves
To create

And He takes
The crooked
And draws
Something straight

"God can draw a straight line with a crooked stick" - Martin Luther
Man Jan 2021
she walks a line
straight and defined
though her values are crooked
her beauty is divine

and in her smile
the sun
brighter than a thousand bulbs
of the electric kind,
she is the moon,
lending to the bleak night
light, typically removed
ogdiddynash Jul 2023
every painting in the house is
modestly crooked due to the
twinning effects of
vibrations and moon-full
spoonfuls of gravity.

causing the tensile strength of the wires to
pensile (1) slowly surrender to point downwards.
It occurs, perhaps
it’s me that’s crooked,
but that’s just plainly
in depth insanity,
like writing a thousand poems
in one 14 day
long sitting.,
now that’s
croissant curvey crazy

nah, not me,
not totally nuts yet,
after all these years,
though not for crooked trying.
Jan. 2020

1) look it up cause it ain’t what you think
Isabella Mar 2020
I sit under this crooked tree,
The branches twisted crookedly.
And while I stare up at the pure white sky,
I ponder over love and life.

So as I sit under this crooked tree,
The limbs all bare, a shape strange as can be,
I wonder if it's all a lie.
For surely it can't look like this when I die.
Michael Stefan Mar 2020
Keep your lips closed tight
I know what happens,
When you open your mouth
Spitting bent words,
Crooked like a boomerang
And one day,
Your words will return to you
Somewhatdamaged Dec 2019
Born for greatness
Got stuck in this gutter full of madness!
He was all that you call life
Then the conditions and circumstances we put him in
He turned out immoral and vile!

Now in the pursuit of paper
Thinks he's after happiness.
Forgot how black his heart turned over
Even after saying never
Never will I become like them but just better.

Better he was
Born for greatness
Little did he realise
He was really good with violence!

It was'nt just about the money
He said.
Its about proving they're wrong
With his crooked smile
Never did he realize
He has become a part of something
That he never wanted to belong!
EmperorOfMine Sep 2019
I speak it into existence...
I will be fine,
and happy.

Though the fall is coming, the winter shadows it.
And through that shadow, gloom lurks.

There will be a crooked reality,
and for some, joy.
But even after that, it lingers.

Not this time. Let it be crooked.
Let it be corrupted.
But I refuse to let it prosper this year.

I will win.
I will shine.
I will be warming,

I will love, care, and share my joy, gracefully.

Everything has a flaw, but everything isn't beautiful.
This winter, beautiful depravity, will be beautifully crooked.
I speak it into existence.
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