Gee 1d
No.

A simple term,
It means so little.
But yet explains a lot.
Still not heard by,
People with forcible dreams.
With these two letters,
Able to enlighten my opinion,
On the oncoming situation.
Yet the ignorance of your needs,
Portray importance over,
The simple yet powerful two lettered word.
Nachos 5d
Left Left Right Left
I swipe, hoping to find it  
A Disney story IRL
Alas, I've reached the pit of Hell

Countless matches and open chats
Oh the deep regret one has
A drink, a coffee, a dinner out
Charming, funny or a lout?

Days, months and a year has passed
Too many swipes, none of 'em last
Incredible sex one odd out
But then I'm back on the look out

Left Left Right Left
Fuck Disney and fuck this
I'm on my own, I have a hand
Sex with myself is just as grand
250 Surf

And into the driveway it takes it for a ride, come on take on this lifeline, and feel it from below, moving up and moving jag, one more for free when I buy nine won’t you put it in the bag- the people are freezing, the zig is at the zag, all the people are screaming, won’t you let them in the back? Come on won’t you feed them, and tease them with a zap, catastrophe seething, relaxing in the bath, suffering or maybe fucking squeezing, pick me up from the airport we’ll go driving in the Jag, you’re already mostly in the bag, I light up a square and light a second for you man, light one up for the girl whose sitting in the back. Her hands are freezing, her lips are turning black, a lamp standing on a suitcase, Earl Grey and Lavender, she’s got fanny packs and sunglasses, she’s gotten ready for morning class, it’s a gas, a blast, from the past, trash and she’s fucking reeling for a squeeze, she just wants a taste of the past, I laugh, I laugh, I laugh. Put a stamp on her legs, touch them and turn up the volume on the amp. She’s got it, she’s not it, she’s winning playing tag-

Come on won’t you feed them, and tease them with a zap, catastrophe seething, relaxing in the bath, suffering or maybe fucking squeezing, pick me up from the airport we’ll go driving in the Jag, you’re already mostly in the bag, I light up a square and light a second for you man, light one up for the girl whose sitting in the back.

We’ve arrived wearing new things, they think we’re in the band. We order tater tots and martinis, and get our gear so we can get ourselves together in the van. It’s a plan, let’s advance Peter Pan, lift off, touch-down, get a spotlight, and then let’s have a dance. I’ll hop out of the pram, catch a lamb, with just one single hand, greet the grand, then do three somersaults, before we go on tour from 250 Surf Street and perform our second jam, we’re the coolest of the new acts streaming from Japan.

Come on won’t you feed them, and tease them with a zap, catastrophe seething, relaxing in the bath, suffering or maybe fucking squeezing, pick me up from the airport we’ll go driving in the Jag, you’re already mostly in the bag, I light up a square and light a second for you friend, light one up for the girl whose sitting in the back.

In the movies, monsters chase the heroes down. Is there a series of numbers that will release our hunter so she can catch those monsters by the horns. It’s a storm moving forwards, a disaster itching to come back, it’s the sound of a nightmare kicking dirt and bounding down the path. They’re alone but I hear her, the dangers coming fast. This olfactory mainstay, of juggernauts searching for something of a snack, even just a pack of peanuts in their sacks. A sample coming quickly, a set of kissing wizards sniffing cotton candy from a bag. The ache of a Tuesday, where seduction leads our pack. This is merely an act, this is merely an act, it’s just merely an act. Tombs enacted, coffins still they can’t resist, feeding sorceries and eating whims.

But then this is nothing, their stories quickly held in suspense. Their fingers numb with the words, they continue to forget. The strangers are wanting for this alphabet, the laws of the marshal that summer soon upsets.

An alert for the clouds,  across the sky to the stains on their affair, her man fucking pleading, love please put back on your underwear. The girl is screaming, in the governments’ undertow, and the ache of her sexuality can bring her skirt back down. Then there’s this season sweeping, there’s this garden you remember from back home.  the flowers topped upon the stem, thorns dipped in poisons, they keep our heart rate in suspense. Into the river  a surge of disbelief, where the cranberry serums overtake those 15th Century reliefs.

Then there’s the neighbors of evil, they’ve brought up the bags, pairing off with a 40oz and a joint of sticky hash. They carry their guns, and they carry with numbers. The master of art dying on a chariot or gurney. A satyr boost by easy flow, dances for tips at a Go-Go. Drinking up with idle stars, smoking cigarettes at outdoor but covered bars. Drinks for her friends. Drinks to get rid of the bends. Something to carry them through, something to carry after them too. Pleased and pleasing.

This is just the story of easy. This is just the state of disbelief. This is just the nuisance of riding a cable car, and performing with a chisel some religious affiliates relief. Then it’s the garden, 64-bit software coming down. He passes the lighter back to the girl sitting quietly observing, while the minister’s teeth are quickly falling out. So please me please me. Please me appease me and send me out. If the bagel is 99 cents and a drink is a dollar ten, we should have enough to sit on the bench before we start to go. Just pee and please me, just scream and shut the doors up top. I spin in circles riding Brooklyn rooftops, while the neighbors try to stop us from jumping down. I guess somebody died last week from jumping down, I guess somebody died from jumping down. I think he died from being alone. You and I wont die from falling down, we’ll never die from being alone.

Come on won’t you feed them, and tease them with a zap, catastrophe seething, relaxing in the bath, suffering or maybe fucking squeezing, pick me up from the airport we’ll go driving in the Jag, you’re already mostly in the bag, I light up a square and light a second for you man, light one up for the girl whose sitting in the back. She asked me if I was gay, I touched her leg, and put my lips to her mouth. We sat in the car past morning, whispering and never coming down.
Nice Guys,
they finish Last.
They make it by,
the skin of their ass.
The woman don’t,
appreciate class.
They expect ‘em all,
to have balls of brass.
Quack Quack.
Desiree Jul 6
Flowing footsteps from skytrain to street
Trying to stay calm, but I'm so excited to meet
You, here, under the changing glow
Of signs, of places, hoping we slow our
Pace and enter. But we are in search
Of another establishment, on the whim
Of a word, a nudge in the right direction.
The winds blow us into the red glow
Of ambiance, of elegance, the right selection
Portobello perfection, Mezcal gin,
Beautiful soul sitting close with a grin,
We can't help but laugh "this is how you win!"

Foggy to recall the way that we went
Home on the bus, or the money we spent.
None of that matters much when you are lost
In the depth of another being, intriguing
To find kin where you are not used to seeing them.
Laughing up the stairs in the corridor,
Knowing in this moment, this is your life,
It is beautiful, you are not needing more.
Both of us feeling this as we reach the door,
"Welcome to Buzzer 2" let's see what's in store.

Waking up cuddling, always a delight.
So much accomplished already, but you might
Have to run out quickly and buy some beans
For the bullet coffee that will be our means
Of mobilization, into the street,
Rubber soles on our feet, ready to meet
The pavement outside which will guide
Our path from delicious morning smoothie
Over bridges, through the downtown core,
Both realizing we would make a great movie
If film could ever capture the way that we soar.

Hats tilted slightly sideways, we even get work done.
Painting quickly so we may continue our run,
Over the Granville bridge, lilac in the air.
And there is no hiding the way that you stare
At my ass, and the mountains, a beauty so fair.

Rangoli's is next, fine dining, the best chai!
Decadently treated to Portobello twice.
Sweaty in our running gear, we are here
Trying to avoid timestamped bills and clock chimes
But you give me your best guess, lately spot on!
I glance at the sun to figure how much day is gone.
Even though there are so many moments left
To unravel, I embody the feelings - being
Ever present to crystallize the memory of our travels.

We turn towards the sinking sun, and I run
My fingers through windblown lion-locks.
Basking in the energy we emanate, we stun
Onlookers with our badassery and good looks.

Granville island is next on the docket
Searching for elusive sumac, in the spice shop
It is tucked away on a shelf, among rarities.
You light up at the till, and guarantee
The next place we head to is going to be
The crown of the afternoon - The Distillery

In shorts and tanks we stroll in with class,
Walk up to the bar and order a glass
Of the finest and most signature gin,
But just a taste, not enough to make the head spin.
A nectar so pure, so incredibly smooth
We continue our stroll, we continue to lose
Sight of places you were expected to be,
Apparently easy to do when you hang out with me.

Crossing under the bridge, sunset rays shine
Through the city canopy, it is nearly time
For the moon to transition us into the night,
But I pull you aside for a moment, while its still light
And kiss you with passion, with fever, with might.
That gin in the afternoon has increased our delight.

And it's not over yet, we play for a while.
Horsing around at the bus stop, we smile
And pose on the blue wall, gangster-style.
Moments in snapshots, spirit of the child
Creating our reality, embracing our WILD.
I hate how people creep into your thoughts like space invaders
Tonight I am thinking of him
Knowing he isn’t thinking of me
He probably lays in the arms of another
The supposed roommate I’m sure
It is not that hard to send someone a simple text
More often than once every month or so
Communication is a two way street
But always I’m the girl driving down the one way road
And I always crash into a brick wall
And I give up
And I don’t hear from him for months
Until I do
He tries to crack me
Sometimes he does
Sometimes I stay strong.
I hate how I feel when I crack
And after.
After is always the worst.
Fuckboys suck.
Rose Moore May 23
I am coffee for one,
Sipping on the bitter taste of loneliness as it sinks and slips down my throat.
I am one flight, one way,
Watching as clouds float by, all clustered together in a perfect daze.
I am sitting alone,
As words blur before me of another damsel being saved by another possessive brute.
I am a joke,
Made by two swooning lovers as they forget their bags of loneliness tethered to their hearts.
I am me.
A half working, cynical, unloveable soul who was marked by brutes who thought I wouldn't burn.
I am waiting.

R.
Kagey Sage Jun 29
I need to ward off this feeling that I must analyze our break and my current state from every angle.

This is the third song, poem, or essay today. I need to get it all out now. Then, I’ll live and discuss other things. It’s the only way. I’m ripped away from hope and confidence. I should have celebrated life all week, being free from work for a bit. Instead, I lament my loneliness. For once in my life, I’m afraid you’re starting to canoodle with other guys. A fear I thought I shed in the aftermath when the last girl said goodbye. And honestly, I just thought I didn’t love you as much as her. I was afraid to really admit it, cause I thought, maybe I was just too crazy last time, and, as a more mature man, I did not need to be that paranoid worshipper I was before. I drove her away with clingy devotion, I know now. And that’s not a compliment to myself. I lose myself in these relationships, or so the girls say. “Where are your friends, your hobbies that you define yourself with?” Looking back, I think it’s all a lie. Maybe I search for relationships so I can be the lazy bonobo I truly want to be. Someone to stay home nearly every night with, eat bad food, watch T.V., sleep, and make love; I’m some faux intellectual artist just to reel you in. Then, I trick you into thinking you trapped me and stripped me of some potential greatness. Can’t I just be similar to you? Can’t my talk still define me somewhat? My hopes, my sometimes fulfilled ambitions of writing and playing instruments, I’m not where I say I wanna be. But maybe I need to aim for hopeless heights just to reach modest plateaus, still slowly climbing up the sky. Here I am, pouring concentrated effort into creative acts after years of comparable lull, and I won’t be happy with any of them until I look back from future comfort. I’ll be showing some girl under my arm this piece inbetween TV season binges. Now, doing what I define myself with most, I’m more miserable than I’ve been in months. Can’t help but believe all my art attempts suck. Yet, what’s really lacking in my life isn’t a confident talent, it’s a strong companion. Romantic or otherwise,

I pushed them away. Now, I’m too old and the world’s too odd for me to easily find another one.

Yet, when I do again get to that exciting stage of first dates, will I continue my artist rouse that soon concedes to comfort laze, or will I find someone who portrays a fellow adventure seeker? Seeming or genuine, it won’t really matter. It will be a interesting match of stamina. I’m sure I won’t mind if she breaks down and we spend a week on the couch, but how long can I keep up?

How is this all affecting me, besides the artist rouse breaking down, as I described above?
I’ll use a word, I don’t think I ever used to describe an emotion:

I’m feeling gray. Even wore a black and gray outfit, today. Decided to change the gray jeans to blue jeans to look more cheery at the $5 jam band concert. Then, around 3:30 pm, turns out the show was sold out online. They said I could try my luck at the door, but I feared I would drive 35 minutes to the city only to find I couldn’t get in, and would have to drive another 35 back. Oh, how I miss living close by like all my friends I would meet there. Though they all have girlfriends, so I’d be the 5th or 7th wheel. But, hey, it’s a concert, maybe I’d meet someone like before the internet. But goddamn, what hassle being out in the boonie ‘burbs! Last summer, I coulda just tried for a ticket, get denied and go home in like 15 minutes time. A year of my own place, split rent with one of the gals who thought I wasn’t reaching my goals. That was the prime of my bonobo times.
Kagey Sage Jun 29
It's not like the last time when I was younger
I didn't let my aloofness make my plunder go asunder
I stayed open as the season in the boonies
but no brunette bullet shells wanted a coat of peacock feathers

Is it these two gray hairs in my too short hair
with the boring clothes and job scaring the mares back to the woods?

The suburban streets are lonely
nothing but parent shut-ins and  kids on bicycles
So I go to the forests and the cities
where you can walk together freely with the occupants in there

I wanna ask her for the time just so I can talk to her
But she knows that I have a blue screen too
that'll tell me just as well

I log onto the network to look up her haunts
where I see her all the time
I find her name and request she sees mine

I make up a story related to happenstance of mutual friends
We write back and forth a few times
'Till the small talk stops, the replies end
we see each other and avoid eyes
Lonerblues Jun 28
I am so tired of the constant emptiness that erupts when I utter to another
I am so tired of people
pulling me by the collar one minute
& letting me go the next
I am so tired of indecisiveness.
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