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GraciexJones Jun 2021
She inhales a huge chunk of the chemically bitter white gram,
Shouts 'I said GOD DAAAAMNMM! GODANM' in the woman’s toilet,
The women snare at her and she beams a grin as she wipes her nostrils clean,
She strolls back to the same uncomfortable silence she had originally left,
A man with a face like a slapped *** and small crabby eyes stares at her,  
He lights a cigarette and continues to ask her questions about Mr Wallace,
She angelically takes a sip out of her £5 dollar milkshake,
An announcement storms the room “JACK RABBIT TWIST CONTEST”
She glares at him with an excited smug expression,
The man profusely refuses,
She pulls at the chance and says “I want to dance, and I want to win a trophy”

She centres the room with her bold presence,
Introduces herself and the man to the audience,
Chucky Berry 'You never can tell' dawns the room,
She strikes a mixture of aristocrats dance poses,
He follows along whilst wiggling his legs and arms,
She twirls and moves closer to him,
She spins and rocks the swimmer move,
Thrusting her chest towards him,
He drops into the mash-potato dance
She shakes her *** and struts her feet,
He jiggles into faster swings and sways his hips,
Captivated by her flow and energy,
She becomes entranced by his charisma,
The two intwine like a wreath of flowers,
She devours him with her blood shot eyes


The song comes to an end,
The crowd roar with excitement,
She beams at him with pride,
He shyly smiles and bows down with Mia Wallace
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
~
The disruptor,
whether digital or analog,
strikes the bell,

bioengineered automaton
—a manufactured life form
given little agency or dimension,

mnemonic to the finitude of life,
and subtle muddling of humankind's
supposed moral transcendence.

~
Randy Johnson Apr 2021
I'm an ex-prizefighter and my name is Glass Joe.
If you're wondering if I could win fights, the answer is no.
I got my *** kicked by a shrimp and his name is Little Mac.
I got knocked out in the first round when that boy attacked.
I'm called Glass Joe because my jaw is made of glass.
It was humiliating because anybody could kick my ***.
People laugh at my losses and it's something I resent.
I happen to be Glass Joe Biden and I'm the President.
I run America but I sure can't take a punch.
If you hit me in my stomach, I'll lose my lunch.
I lied to everybody when I said that I came from France.
I got *** whippings in the ring, I never stood a chance.
Even old women could knock me out and I'm not a fighter anymore.
If Americans learn that I lost ninety-nine fights, I won't win in 2024.
This poem was inspired by the Punch-Out video game
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't really know what I'm trying to say here;}


every word in poetry

I want written on my stone in the cemetery

they fly in the perspective

in every human eye changed-disrespective

no faults on the creation all undeniable artistic behavior

faithful not for me loyalty not a word to my savior

hands barely reaching a touch

others marvelous not asking much

                                                                                         -------ravenfeels
Brumous Apr 2021
It's funny how I always think of you,
as my sanctuary, someone I can run back to,
and tell that "I love you,"

But all there is a wonderful raconteur
that filled you with alluring words and beauty
All you are is a piece of art;
an illustration of imagination

I am head over heels for you
despite knowing how troublesome;
it is to me

In the end, all I can say--is that;
"She is my Wonderwall,"
I love her so much but...
she's far from real
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, funny how a book can be translated by everyone's Mercury differently--edited;}


on a beauty so mystical on a plastered smile an essence so beam

yet not everlasting not in a bare nor a second tormenting blurt

such stars she begged them Gods for she tormented in a skeptic hurt

she trails her menaces to **** in a drip

of a bordeaux in a wine in a mindless sip

yearning erased letters from people from faces

a charm of a devil monster selfished her feels down her laces

a bound to the intimate

flushed upon the ultimate

of the hate of the ends

an evermore of upcoming pained centuries

moments the gods abide to hide to conceal

from human memory to blank and come across a past life to steal

then to the unconscious to plant on dreams and make souls heal

speechless left

one on the fictional

two on the cure in the weeks my delusional

believed seven constellated freckles pure by the character been held

mooned self-expressionism in sick mind delves I label mine

forever fallen saint on the line


                                                                                  --------ravenfeels
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