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Astral May 13
Hidden under countless sheets,
Behind lock and key,
Like I'm scared they'll see.

I really do love poetry,
The way it feels to write,
To feel.

But I find myself embarrassed,
When in conversation,
A poetic stream slips out, free across the screen.

I don't know why I fear it so,
Or hope that it would go,
But I wish I didn't feel like this.

It's true that it's poetry I miss.
Peter Balkus Mar 26
It used to be fun
watching them
juggling and making silly things,
embarrassing themselves
for the sake of it.
I welcomed them in my life.

But not anymore,
now I am bored,
I'm fed up with them,
doing the same tricks,
pulling the faces,
making funny sounds.
They don't entertain me anymore,
they don't make me laugh.

They annoy me,
they bore me,
I don't want to watch them,
I'm done.

They can *******,
stupid clowns.
Amanda Feb 24
Often things go over my head
Miss subliminal meaning in words said
Am I really stupid because I do not understand
Innuendos the rest of the room can?
I will be the first to admit I'm unaware
There is more inside my skull than empty air
I remember when I was able to rely on my gut
When I wasn't always asking "what?"
Nowadays I am constantly left out
I am never quite sure what you're talking about
In the dark I am kept away
In a room shaded black and grey
Silence locks truth up tight
Concealing it out of my sight
Everybody is in on the most public joke
Except me beause I'm too blind to see through the smoke
I hope you don't think I'm stupid for asking questions
I am intelligent I just don't pay attention
My gullible nature may make me a breeze to trick
But the fact you see me as a target is sick
Sometimes I get the punchline too late
That doesn't make me a less suitable mate
Sorry for every embarrassing thing I have said
I don't know why but things too often go way above my head
I hate feeling like everyone is in on some joke that you don't get
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Got a notice
On the freaking
That a piece of embarrassing
Went viral
That I did not
Want to
Is like Ebola
Now everyone
Thinks that I
Madly in love
With the Dalai Lama.
I am a loser.  

Like a freak
I try to stick my
Pretty face
In a hole
And breaks
My **** nose.
Fidget spinner!!!!

Then fumbled
With dinner
And the food
Because of art
Broken nose
Flying at my
Ezra Yelverton Dec 2018
imagine a world that would allow you
to see yourself through your love’s eyes;
you’d see the things that make you beautiful.
like the gap between your teeth,
or the scars below your lip.
completely embrace the defects that meet in the middle,
stretching from each side of your chest.
there’s no sadness in your eyes,
that embarrassing trait matters a lot less.
standing before you would be a person that deserves love
and needs to be loved by you.
Penelopejayde Oct 2018
i become
very aware
of my chewing
when there
is somebody
**** in the
Aware of that someone is a stray but let me finish my lunch
All I
      On a
    C h a i r  

Hung   in   space

Tranquil Peace


    In the air

Then a
A slight
     From the

And my, me, myself, I,
On the floor, ego dead.
J Jan 2018
I discovered your work on a poetry site
seeking #funny rhymes - like I like to write.

And was delighted to be reminded of
this silly boy I used to love
and my awesome dad whose subversive wit
made my sense of humor... off a bit.

And it made me think of writing you.
Which is something I've never thought to do.
Writing strangers is a toss of the dice
Who knows who's on the other side?

But it gnawed at me for a few more days
So finally I gave into the craze...
And I googled you and was shocked to learn...
Holy crap - you're like - famous.

And holier crappier still  - you're like a famous successful internet and stand up comedian - and jeepers film director apparently now too - which is the saddest thing as I spent a large chunk of my career so far working on internet protocol standards - and apparently have no idea what actually happened on the internet in the last 10 years.  I'm not that old but apparently really lame... sigh...back to poem now.

So my mind began to retreat and twirl
I am for sure not just some Teen Beat fan girl.
Disconcerting to go from seeing connection
To knowing it's just out of the question.

And of course I am embarrassed too
to think I'd discovered something new!
To think you'd be someone just like me
With time to trade some verse for free.  

It's like - you think you saw a rainbow
Or heard a song that no one else knows.
You lucked into them - you didn't earn them
Then you realize - you have to burn 'em.
So sadly I can't write you for real -
I'm sorry it's just too surreal.
I'll assume your account on here a corporate sham
Or a catfish running some lame scam.

But if you were the friend I sought -
Your authentic voice not yet been bought -
What would I have said anyway?
And what did I want you to say?

I'd probably say I find your work unique
And I hoped you'd keep up on your streak
And that you touched my heart a little bit
And made me smile with your slick wit.

And maybe I hoped you'd like my art
Or challenge me to play a different part
Or question more why I'm on here..
While method acting through a tech career.

Curiosity will force me to explore
Your other work - of that I'm sure.
But if you ever see this poem, know it -
Someone out here first saw you as a poet.
This strange discovery made me think a lot.  I think fan mail for famous people is totally weird and uncomfortable because you are basically approaching someone's persona - not them as a person - and saying you like something about that.   I guess that's not bad per se and probably meant to be nice and complimentary, but it isn't real.

I added a ? to the title because in retrospect I almost wish I’d never looked him up and just enjoyed the poetry and could consider him a parallel kindred spirit like I do with other people whose work I’ve discovered here.. I bet he is just another writer like the rest of us who would be cool to have coffee and talk poetry with. It troubles me that knowing this other dimension influences my perception even if I don’t want it to.
Marc Hawkins Oct 2017
The mainstay of guests,
Their backs against chairs
That are backed against walls,
Readily seated and settled
Into tight knit sub communities
And discussion cells…
Thrashing out social failings
And political ineptitudes
Gleaned from broadsheets
And RT News updates,
Mumbling agreements
Or gentle dissents,
Some too ****** to participate
(should have “passed the kouchie
‘pon the left hand side”).
One spills red wine onto white cloth
And they all laugh longer than necessary
About the irony of it all
Even though there was no irony
In the situation to begin with.
There are a small handful of male guests
That I feel I could get along with.
I give way in the doorway
For the hostess to deliver nibbles.
There are a handful of female guests
That I think I’d like to ****
(the hostess included),
But none of this allays the reluctance
To step through the threshold.
The hostess exits the room
As I pin myself to the hallway wall,
“It could be you”, I think,
And try to relay this through a raised eyebrow smile
That goes unnoticed.
I attempt my break in
Just as the conversation turns to
The importance of contemporary art
In modern society
And the relevance of Jim Morrison’s poetry
In the cerebral world of words.
I search audibly for a conversation
Centred around Adele’s latest album release…
And I NEVER, on a good day, want to talk about THAT.
In for a penny, I take the step with a fuzzy indifference
And am drawn to a hand extending the offer of a spliff,
And to the ***** of empty wine glass on full bottle,
And a “will you, won’t you?” expression,
And I trip and fall over a synthetic fur rug
Lying, recumbent, too scared to take my eyes
Off the pendulum light bulb that hovers above me
And all I can think is that the hallway
Was a much safer place to be.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
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