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bathtub overflowing, the kitchen sink a-running,
water water everywhere, everybody, getting a wordy
Saturday po-em, ahem, so only, lonely, love poetry,
high pitches, whimpering, like a three year old chillun,
why not me babe? why not me babe?

words uttered somewhere, everywhere, hourly,
maybe even screamed, sung, shouted outed,
with total justification, incredulous incomprehension,
my ticket unpunched, this fate, an indeterminate sentence,
if only I had a penny for every utterance, be a multi-billionaire
and still dissatisfied

the isolation au courant makes it a thousand times worse,
sometimes, I hold my own hand, remembering what is touch,
just not to forget, like a lazy eye, a missing limb needy for
scratching, a sensating, sustaining pleasure that sorely
disappoints, for the brilliance of it, is in its eclectic electric,
and a solitary spark fizzles, swallowed up, into disappointing reveries

my eyes wet themselves when I see letters airbone, floating, reforming,
why not me babe?
if mine eyes cannot catch another’s, no across-the-room thermometer saturating stare of farenheightened heat, what good this vision?
left with a single despicable desperate cri du to my conurbation,
why not me babe?

my banana bread aroma flies out the open window to meet
and be greeted across the street, with applause and affection,
but our nostrils cannot taste, our lips forbidden, in this hell,
why not me babe?

the quietude so great, I hear the rhythmic breathing of one who
could be my chosen, my one and only, my love poem, exhaling too,
why not me babe?

but the see-through curtain prohibits strangers exchanging ****** fluids, glances of possibility, and enraged, unengaged, smash all my mirrors, cause they don’t answer my question,
why not me babe?
it’s a reverberated echoing, a slap across my face, married to my cryout, a singular sensation of exasperated silence


pick up my brass decorative magnifying glass, with twisted ivory handle, examine my hands, my lips, my nose, my credit scores, my personal spaces, my declining weight and bank balance, each excuse, belief,
the white spots decorating my sticking out tongue, thinking there’s another sense I’m forgetting, but all I recall is,
why not me babe? why not me babe?

and that is why only love poetry did not get a love poem today...
Lara May 14
13
Friday, the 13th.
-
Something bad is going to happen.

13 is an unlucky number.

But is it?

Can a number be unlucky.

Can something that is getting used in the world be unlucky?

13 is just a number.

A number that can mark a day, be something special for some persons.

But for me it is a lucky number.

No one can define what makes something lucky or unlucky.

Everybody decided for themselves what is supposed to be good for them.

Luck can not be predicted.

It just happens.

Luck is unlucky.
Lara May 13
What is real and what isn’t?

Nobody knows.

Everybody knows.

Nobody really knows anything, but everybody knows something.
Who knows?
Everybody wants happiness
Everybody has dreams
Not Everybody gets satisfaction
Everybody loves someone
Everybody longs love
Not Everybody finds love
Everybody knows pain
Everybody has struggles
Not Everybody survives
Everybody doesn't get everything
Peace Ekeinde Apr 19
Who are you to cause me and it will come true?
Who are you to plan against me and it will pull through?
I have done you no wrong even by doing you no good
Your evil intentions are yours so let it end with you🙅🏻‍♂️

I say on what ground do you challenge me?
I say on what ground do you challenge truth?

Judging those who commited offence you were once absolved of
You are like an infected man isolating the sick with those who are well😷

If your principles are straight then why do they bend at the part of integrity?

If your disputes are clear then why do they dull in the eyes of transpericy?

If your judgements are Just then why do they fumble at the sight of probity?

If your arguments are pure then why do they stink at the presence of veracity?

If your foundations are firm then why do they crumble at the establishment of candor?

If your basis are true then why do they contradict the very definition of truth?

I'll tell you why you wicked and ignorant fellow
And please do well to peruse

Your basis are anything but true
Your foundations are anything but of truth

And any foundation that is not built on truth
cannot establish in reality it rule
being not able to hold even a clue
and even though it does
It will fumble and crumble as every vanity would

But any man that would walk in the light of truth💡
Desperately searching for the path that is true🧐
In confirmity to
fact and reality
Veracity and integrity
Probity and honesty
Spiced with faith love and charity🧡

Will find peace in the sight of the almighty
Mercy at the plea of his felony
Peace at the presence of his enemies
Blessing gift joy and prosperity

And finally when his end falls on him
It will mark the beginning of his immortality and divinity
For he has made good virtue his foundation and Truth his SOLID ROCK 😇
Please encourage a young poet🧡
Chris Heidelberg Dec 2019
The morning sun begin to rise from under it's shadowy hidden place underneath it's course the reflection from the sun glows off the wavy ocean wave,this fantasy of this imaginary land is like a magic touch from a fairy!! The sparkling lights coming off the deepest part of the this ocean excites my soul and the attraction of this painted picture is full of peace..The side walk walls are decorated with different colors on the wall of happiness..Kids are playing enjoying the evening activities!!Pinocchio places his hand on the wish fairy stick to receive direction towards the fairy wounder land..on the left side the clouds shapes up cartoon characters such as Mickey mouse, paw patrol,etc things places of fun!!The mountains rest on it's hills waiting for santa clause to land it's sleigh full with toys for all ages Christmas time is near..butterflies are beginning to produce colors from their wings reflecting rainbows designer best colors..The kids are shouting with joy and the evening sun is smiling down on them because God's creation is love
God
B D Caissie Oct 2019
I don't like to use the word hate, but busybody worker bees who micro-analyze what other people do or don't do, **** me off.

We're all different and have our own quirky personalities. I see those who single people out in so-called social circles. They don't fool me with their classic misdirection. Trying to hide and mask their own insecurities and weirdness. All to ensure that they fit in with the so-called norm.

I'm weird and I wear it like a three-piece suit, and you know what? I'm looking good! Attention all you circles, clicks, and social groups. I'll keep being me. If that puts me on the outside looking in, then so be it for that's where my freedom dwells.

©️
Butterfly Jun 2019
Everybody has a  angel and an demon on there shoulder.
Sometimes the angel wants to **** the demon.
And sometimes the demon wants to **** the angel
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