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Francis Oct 2023
Someone told me,
To water my own grass,
But what they neglected to mention,
Is that my grass is crass.

This is due to my unfortunate past,
Every minute spent kissing ***,
To be walked on and trampled by,
Boots and heels of brass.

So no, I will most certainly not,
Water my own grass,
The thoughts and evaluations,
Of the judgment I pass,
Is necessary and voluntary,
In a sea of largemouth bass.
Another poem about judgment of character since I’m always in defense.
Malia Jun 2023
I think it’s really π’‡π’–π’π’π’š when we ask, β€œhow are you?”
The answer’s π’‚π’π’˜π’‚π’šπ’” the same.
β€œI’m good, how are you?”, β€œI’m fine, how are you?”, β€œI’m π’‡π’Šπ’π’†, I’m π’π’Œπ’‚π’š!”
I think it’s funny, because sometimes it’s a π’π’Šπ’†.
We have made it π’„π’–π’”π’•π’π’Ž to π’π’Šπ’†, to give an π’‚π’π’”π’˜π’†π’“ that doesn’t π’‚π’π’”π’˜π’†π’“ anything.
We have made it π’„π’–π’”π’•π’π’Ž to 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 π’π’Šπ’”π’•π’†π’π’Šπ’π’ˆ, because we π’Œπ’π’π’˜ what they’ll say.

We π’Œπ’π’π’˜ what they’ll say.
We π’Œπ’π’π’˜ what π’˜π’†β€™π’π’ say.

You know what we’ll say?
We won’t say π’‚π’π’šπ’•π’‰π’Šπ’π’ˆ.
We’ll say π’π’π’•π’‰π’Šπ’π’ˆ because words are not π’˜π’π’“π’…π’” when they’re π’†π’Žπ’‘π’•π’š.

We’ll repeat it, 𝘒𝘯π˜₯ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘒𝘡 π˜ͺ𝘡 𝘒𝘯π˜₯ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘒𝘡 π˜ͺ𝘡 𝘒𝘯π˜₯ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘒𝘡 π˜ͺ𝘡 𝘒𝘯π˜₯ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘒𝘡 π˜ͺ𝘡-

Can’t you see how 𝘩π˜ͺ𝘭𝘒𝘳π˜ͺ𝘰𝘢𝘴 this is?
Random fact of the day: We have the same number of vertebrates as giraffes. Missed opportunity for us to have giraffe necks, in my opinion.
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2021
He says pessimistic attitude will take me nowhere in this life

The way a solitary setback becomes an impassable obstacle solely because of my reaction to it

Howling at unfairness of reality and the trouble it tosses my way ever so frequently

With raw negativity that overpowers any sound advice or reason

Understanding my perspective an achievement nearly impossible to unlock

And deep down know he is correct

I silently resign to a few sighs as I try to turn my point of view around

My head is stuck
Stubbornness is the glue trapping my thoughts in a bubble of cynicism
What will finally pop it?
Bobby Dodds Apr 2021
is 20/20."
As the tag-a-longs
And dingbats like to recite.
Well that's dumb- 20/20 is average!!
This is outrageous -even our idioms our idiotic-
So I propose a new saying,
And yes, who is the 17 year old white boy
To say anything about anything.
But hear me out,
How about instead, we say,
"Hindsight, the unluckiest symptom of consciousness,
and a hell in its own right"
Okay yeah, well, maybe it IS a bit wordy,
And yeah, okay, maybe it IS a TAD too cynical.
But since when has a teenager been anything BUT
A self-proclaimed cynic.

With stars too far to telephone,
And when telegraphs aren't a thing anymore.
We gotta make our own futures,
But when we're riding along through our
Generation of hate,
Or lovely liberalism.
Try not to check the rearview mirror
"Riding along in my funky car, Mohair suits and Jazz guitars, what's a little sugar honey?! if not to take me far
now won't you pass the mars bar? *overly epic jazz guitar and doo woppy bass licks*

I'm in a jazzy mood tonight, I need to relearn some of my jazz piano songs that I learned for band years ago,,, I may never be able to play a concerto, or any of my favorite Tartini songs, but at least I can "play that funky music white booooyyy"
Fey Dec 2020
if i point a gun at the sky
will I have a shooting star?
because I can no longer believe in a lie,
spoken by imaginary gods from afar.
so I am going to create my own wish
with weapons made by human hands.
at least I can count on them,
for they will never diminish my devious plans.

Β© fey (12/12/20)
Aerien Nov 2020
I have resigned myself to this;
time stretching onwards a pale weak grey like that of a dove, promising peace
-- sod your peace, after all, heaven is a place where nothing ever happens --
-- heaven is Las Vegas -- everything and nothing all at once,
and around the corner of my hesitation
comes a voice as lifeless and mutilated as the rest of me:
"shut up and live."

I have walked unshoon through dust-choked wastelands
where they strung belief and imagination up
from the flagpoles, by their throats
and burned all our dreams to light up
a night grittier than a mouthful of gravel in a desert.
tracing my tracks and trails by the bloodprints
left by bare soles lacerated by shattered dreams underfoot.
"just shut up and live."

I have dreams, curiosities, wondering too deeply
what the last moment on Earth would be like,
what it would take to breathe through the end
and run face-first into oblivion or whatever's beyond it.
I sicken, and weaken, and wake up gagging on my own sweat
and the echoes of a voice made harsh by dysagapi:
"shut up and live".
Lee Carter Oct 2020
It is the habit of the cynical
to believe themselves too smart to be optimistic;

This allows them the privilegeΒ of being unhappy,
even when they are right.
Henri Coetzee Sep 2020
He placed his heart on the anvil
And picked up his hammer
He hesitated less than a second
Before he brought it down.

The first hit was bitterness
For life had not gone his way.
The second hit was cynicism
For no one ever cared beyond themselves.

The third and final hit was hatred
For love had betrayed him
And in its absence, he realized
Hate never broke his heart.

He returned his heart to his chest
And a bitter, hateful cynic said:
Emotions are for the weak
As a tear fell down his face.
A little poem I wrote a few weeks back
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