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Vane glorious and absolutistic,
     though I defiantly,
     cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
     mine acidic breast

houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
     barbaric, and bubonic
     cannibalistic demons within thy
     safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock

     timed to trigger avast
     burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
     (What me worry
     Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
     inappropriate, inconvenient,

     inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
     palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
     endeavoring fractured arrant

cleft daemonic gripping
     hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze ****,
     a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable

     banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
     anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
     exemplified historically

     graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
     (koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
     and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
     for Marie Antoinette,

     who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
     where a joshing drake
     (named Gill O. Teen)

also known (solely known
     to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
     lunatic, heady harvester,
     and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,

     trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
     for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
     pre pound payment
     basking in glory (re: gory us)

     amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
     vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
     lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
soph Jun 2018
If
I lay awake in bed at night
And ponder the “what-ifs”
If one little detail changed in the past
The present would be altered drastically
What if I stayed friends with that person?
What if I said yes to that opportunity?
What if I held my tongue in that moment?
I also think about possibilities of the future
If I was suddenly cured
If I died tomorrow
How the world would be impacted
I dwell on this too often
Concentrating on details I cannot change
If only I could focus on my current impact
If that altered detail changed the present that much
Imagine how my actions now impact the future
What
If
late night thoughts amirite

I haven’t been posting poetry as often because I am Insecure™️ but whatever hdhdhdjd
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...

Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.

Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.

Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.

Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).

Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.

A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.

That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.

Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.

He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.

Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious ******* initials.

Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting ******* skyscrapers.

This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.

I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ***, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.
KAE Jun 2018
“oh baby girl, as in the beginning, as everything has started. turn off your emotions, your feelings, everything. all over again. so you are not going to feel pain, love, sadness like a fool again. do it and we are going to be just the three of us together like the old times. do it and everything is going to be all right, again.”

K said to me.
Nyx May 2018
If
If you saw me
In the way that I do
Would do the same things?
Would you do the things I do

If you looked like me
With this body and scars
Would you cry and feel shame
Or remain the way you are?

If you had friends like mine
The toxic and the bad
Would you appreciate yours more
Or would you feel incredibly sad

If you acted like me
Desperately trying to fit in
Would you grow tired and weary
Would you wear my painful grin?

If you had my life
What would you do
Could you be stronger then me
Would you make my life less blue?

If you could be happy
While wearing my shoes
Then maybe for me
Happiness is possible too
mq May 2018
If you put an open book on your face and breathe in the softness of the pages,
And your cheeks feel the heaviness of the words pressed against them:
You will absorb all the knowledge inside of the book
And the story will sink into your skin, like warmth after a long day in the sun.

If your pyjamas smell like the sun,
They have disappeared into the back of your wardrobe
And gone back home when you were asleep
Returning when the sun peeks in through the lines in your walls.

If it is late in the morning
Then the morning loves you and your sleepy face
and the quietness of your thoughts as you wake.
All rights reserved to Macayla :-) please don't copy/steal, each poem I post is usually something I am proud of.
trf May 2018
Stares from the albatross surround me,
like a helpless fish in a sea of what if's,
their soulless, solemn Should Eyes
glare into my dreaded abyss.

Curtains are drawn and doors are locked,
but Should Eyes creep through cracks
the way air and ants get in.

My spine sweats subtle weight
sending shivers down dampened vertebrae,
while anxiously awaiting another day.

WHAT IF I SHOULD?
There is a court date of what if's and should I's coming. We have all been subpoenaed and are in this together. You will know when to show up. Mine is tomorrow.
"The People vs. The End"
Sam Hacker May 2018
if
if I could lose myself in your eyes,
       all that I am would be yours.

but the road map on your skin, crisscrossing the years of love and sorrow,
       guides me through the ups and downs of you,
everything leading me home.

if I could lose myself in your touch,
       I would gain more than I ever spent.

but the cold stares and the harsh whispers
       keep me from you,
everything locking me up and shutting me down.

if I could find myself in your love,
       that would be more than I ever deserved.
Willow May 2018
Z
I should sleep.
Because daydreaming of what could’ve
Isn’t as fun
As dreaming of what could...
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