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Coop Lee Jun 2014
drunk woodland children, we
ask so many questions, we
firefly skin. the picnic table beneath
our lamps, our ouija board, our girlfriends
next to us warm and laughing.
stories:
we tell stories to scare eachother
before descending into our tents
on the outer darks.
sweet night nothings.
& everythings.

i’m consumed by dreams of you;
somehow running;
somehow ******* my way out of my own inevitable
death.

a lady bug wing half-yanked and humming.
wind scorpion.
mosquito
in the early morning buzz, and i roll over
to see your puffy little sleeping face ::: sunlight there.
limp beyond the tent and zipper.

we eat mayo sharp cheddar salami wheat sammies
& take acid.
everyone one else goes on a group nature-hike,
but i stay behind
hallucinating of my dead mother in those sequined clothes she used to wear.
::: we play scrabble and talk,
until she leaves.
like love.
like guitar strummed chords and many hydrations later –
my tribe returns,
with fish.

the girl i love.
you/she roll joints in your lap,
in my lap,
in a chair and i mirage
the faces of everyone through glass &
slosh; through campfire
& lemonade.
i May 2014
i cannot even
wrap my head around
the idea that it has
been a total year
since i turned around
in my seat in that
bus and saw you,
making jokes and laughing.
i will always
be thankful for
that day, in which
you put my hearbroken
heart back in shape
within a minute.

it's hard to believe
i fell in love with you
in such a short amount
of time,
but i have to believe it
because it's been
a freaking year
and will never forget
the year you made me
happy and the person
i am today.

you may not know
my name, but it's surely
written on my heart.

believe me, g
i will always
love you,
no matter if you
smoke, drink or
do bad ****.

i fell in love with you,
and even if you change,
you are still perfect to me.

you're such a beautiful
disaster,
you ruined me completely,
in the best way.

thank you for making
this year the best one yet.

i barely see you,
but thank god for
the wonderful memories.

*i love you
22.05.2013
you are the best thing that has happened to me.
i May 2014
if i am smiling,
it doesn't mean
i'm happy,
if i am laughing,
it doesn't mean
i'm happy,
if i am having fun,
it doesn't mean
i'm happy,
it only means
i'm too sad
to do anything else,
besides hide under
masks which include
fake smiles and
a happy soul.
Clindballe May 2014
Home, sweet home.
You are the memories of my childhood.
Oh, how I love you.
The dreams I had.
The ones lived out and the ones still to be.
Laughing and celebrating with friends and family.
Swinging on the swing that once was in the backyard.
Climbing in the highest tree.
Feeling on the top of the world.
Oh, how I hate you.
The nightmares that hunted me at night.
Crying in the corners of my room.
Failures and broken dreams.
Yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs.
Hiding in bushes and thicket.
Feeling like my world was falling apart.
There is no place like home.
Written: May 15. - 2014
Lame Poet May 2014
It's laughable.
In the way that lets people know
you've maddened--
oh, you're a ripe, juicy
one now--
and also tells
them you learned the proper
definition of irony--
and the steam from your breath on
New Years' Eve
won't straighten out the wrinkles.
The laugh wrinkles on
your face are reflected as
frown lines in
your eyes.
It's laughable.
In the way that lets people know
absolutely nothing about why
you seem to have heard
something that made you
just split your sides with
laughter.



-LP
Martin Narrod May 2014
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.

to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in  one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.

embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ******, glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.

creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.

luminous lengths of birthday candles

lickedidddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd­ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd­dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd                                                            d 0  y0urself as best you can
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
I gave away my branches,
I gave away my leaves,
you chopped me up for housing,
then ran off,
leaving me.

I gave away my dirt,
and gave away my air,
I gave away the water,
you said you'd none to spare.

I gave away my patterns,
I gave away my age,
I gave away all I had,
and you'd just take and take.

And now that I have nothing,
I sit alone, and cry
I think how I am now a stump,
and you didn't even say goodbye.
I don't know why,
I give stuff to you.
I tell the others,
it's just what I do.
But I'm ready to jump,
right over the ledge.
You keep laughing,
and pushing me off the edge.
Then you come back around,
asking for solace.
I'd have hit the ground by now,
but i won't get stuck in the past.
So whether or not hurting me was your goal,
Take that you ***!
Being a bully isn't cool.






:3
Amour de Monet May 2014
Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?
Inside out May 2014
There was a small fly who flew in my ear,
All cosy and warm, with nothing to fear.
A harmless existence, though short on sun,
He beat his wings against my ear drum.
''Its in my ear!!'', I cried in shock,
Whilst those stood round began to mock.
ENOUGH of THIS, my new, near neighbour!
(The car key was ******,
in pain I cussed. . .)
But calm was restored with my makeshift sabre :)
Written by a friend but it made me laugh! Permission given to post.
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.

But we could be a family.
We could be a whole.
We could be together.
But no one could be cold.

If we could live on an island,
no hate,
no guns,
no war.
We'd look back and wonder,
what was it all for?

People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.

Gangs,
tempts,
nudes,
exempts.

We sit at desk,
eating or eaten.
we laughed at or laughing.
beating or bleedin'.

We know the truth, but call it cruel.
The cruel one is we, the blind fool.

People diein' on the streets
****** puddles at our feets.

Who shot the most guns?
Who then killed them all?
Who didn't mind a casualty?
Who could be responsible?

"Not me!" we cry,
"I'm a good soul."
But even if we declined,
can I be told where they go?
No one WANTS to die. For someone to do it, there will be an opponent. A THREAT.    That's what this poem is about.
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