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trf Nov 2018
Two loose dimes and a couple quarters,
blue lights bright, better call my lawyer,
rosé red wine and a chimney for ya,
back to the future, hallelujah.

Turn a blind eye, like JonBenét,
let this Louisville wind blow out my escalade,
my fight or flight senses are about to say,
take your suede steel tip shoes and go ándele.

Those Derby blues, ruin days,
that Kentucky green, man I'm bound to pay,
cell phones in your prison's promenade,
they both passed the bars and now one's on the way.
the cell phone service in l-ville jail is top notch, btw
yellah girl Nov 2017
i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in blue
jean overalls, no shirt, just skin
with your hair pulled back in a
Kentucky Wildcat baseball cap.

on the porch you would reign
with a cigarette between your teeth
& a piece of wood in your palm
whittling & whistling the night
away, the stars twinkling away.

i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in the morning
while i make a *** of coffee, black
like the coal dust lingering on
top of our sunrise kisses.

deep in the Appalachian range,
where the starlight becomes our
city lights, our home in a holler
calls to my heart, and i want nothing
more than to be held
in your arms.
Unrequited longing is unusual. Sometimes, you don't realize you want something until you no longer have it.
yellah girl Jul 2017
i'm coming Home
& i know it's wrong,
but all i can think,
"will i run into you?"

our Love is unrequited,
& always will be.
you can't accept my God,
& i can't accept your gender,
or lack of one? i don't know.

i'm coming Home
& i will drive
through the hollers & the hills
of E.Ky, if only for the hope
of seeing you, even briefly.

i still recall the many nights
sharing music notes & secret dreams,
yearning to feel each other, to share
the same breath & the same mattress.

i'm coming Home
& i know i won't contact you,
but my only wish is that you
would read this & come find me.

please find me.
Dallas Mar 2017
for those with anxiety, theres the rare occasion where all of your muscles are relaxed
the scent of cinnamon helps me relax and relieves the constant tension held in my back
long winding back roads also bring a wave of peace
pacifying the consistent anxiety that comes with living

the home of storms and bluegrass
the home of moving trucks, it calls out to me
like theres a ring of sirens on the banks of the Ohio River
the intense history dampens her image
but she was also a tree for me to escape in and allowed me to get lost and get away from the loudness of my unstable home,

a fireplace warming my heart with fond memories from the time before i moved and was in the center of an earthquake
facing the tidal wave of conflict and court
the time before i had to try and see through damp eyes and keep on doing the looming stack of assignments from my teachers
when breathing was easier
now im here and my ghosts are up and keeping my tired eyes open as well
banging cabinet doors and knocking memories to my feet

my headspace is in the format of a library
thats where i felt safe in my old home
you couldnt yell in there
nobody asks questions when you look broken inside
they just learn your name and make you feel welcome
thats the one constant i've found

when i go home it feels like a religious experience
pulling onto Mall Road feels like walking back into heaven or reviewing your past life after being reincarnated
the nostalgia Kentucky brings stops all the rattling and i have a moment of rare peace
the ghosts are still
nostalgia is made for the tense
Bad Jokes Inc Dec 2016
My name is Young Slug
and I write hip hop songs.
The lyrics sound as clear
as a lady slurping dongs.

Martin Luther King once told me
that my mother was a ****.
So I whipped out a baseball bat,
and ****** him in the ****.

I think he liked it too much,
cause he was moaning "colonel sanders,
stick it in my ***... and make me dry like the flanders."
All names mentioned in this **** are purely coincidence so f*** you.
B Young May 2016
Driving through Kentucky.
Fields fragrant with summer flowers,
spring fast approaching.  
En-route to meet the boys of previous
summers lounging in London streets, fields, and serpentine parks,
And, stairs leading down to unwelcoming basements; as is the British way.
Malls of America now act as labyrinths.
Where the hell can I park my car?
Again, I ask, where the **** can I park my car?

I don’t care.
I just won’t park my ******* car,
in this god-forsaken middle of the western U.S.
Louisville, better yet, Hicksville.  
I pop another Vicodin to get rid of this ill,
Surviving bit by bit but drained incessantly until,
I am no longer near fill, in spirit or in gasoline, tangible but also metaphysical.  
Someone plunge into my depressed psyche and drill, drill,
Hey waitress of my mind, may I please request the bill?
With a pocket full of Xanax and a duffel bag of boomers,
my pockets jingle, (click-clack) as the pills bounce around with
every step, treating addiction with more drugs appears
to be the current stance of the know nothing doctors across this greatest nation on God’s green earth.
Hey babe, “want to walk with me to the methadone clinic,”
It’s rainy out, cold rain, can you carry my umbrella?
I can’t miss my dose or I’ll get sick.
So again I ask
Walk with me to the methadone clinic?
tabitha Nov 2015
i think of kentucky when i think of love~
of who we were before
not because of him,
or what i what i thought was happening up above
i think about you standing there, in the library door
or about how intensely i stared at your floor when
i was working up the courage....
i think about how i missed him every single day
                                                 everything was grey
then you played your accordion
and it all went away
                                            *kentucky has the greenest grass i've ever seen
                                                            ­     ~
i begged you away from the edge of the roof once.....
whiskey was heavy on your breath and
the world was heavy on your chest and
you sat next to me and
you didn't jump
i really thought you might....

it was one of the only times
i ever felt like a useful human being in this
                                      whirling winding world of poetic energy
                                                  and compassionate synergy,
       ­                                                (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

so.... if talking you away from edges of roofs,
if warmly burrowing in your truths,  
makes me feel like a useful human being in this
                               whirling winding world of self-inflicted lethargy
                                                     and romantic anarchy,

                                                       ­              ok
now i just must figure out how to deliver this.....
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