Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Still Crazy Mar 12
“keep your dementia well organized”

it spreads to the outward edges like camera film alit,
burning inside outward, fast and quick,
the mutterings dispersed in voices
precisely loud enough to not be distinctly heard,
but perfect for your
active concerning consternation

you summon different voices for every occasion cause you
keep your dementia tools well organized

order is the successful methodology for maintaining
what otherwise appears and truly is, irrational rantings,
nuggets of chicken, you’re too chicken to loudly scream,
lest someone solves the riddles you are raving

it’s insane to keep your crazy so well managed,
it’s sane    to keep your crazy so well managed,
it’s crazy to stay sane, when your demented nature,
is dewy decimal handy for steady decimation

you laugh while writing this,
recognizing a well organized personality disordered,
is the key to success at anything you do,
like being crazy cool
you, still crazy after all these years,
do not lack for historical perspective

oops! typo, hysterical perspective,
old tricks for new doctors, renewable energy
never fails to confuse and amuse,
hard work keeping yourself entertained
at the medical professions expense

which is why I keep my dementia well organized
3-12-19
Pyrrha Feb 19
OCD
I think I'm always stressed out
Because my mind is always a mess
I must have OCD for my thoughts
It makes me
u    
           n
c
     o   m
F    
        o
                      r
T           a
     b                l
              E
So I make lists of what must be done
What I want to do, what I'm going to do
And many more lists
To organize my thoughts, just a little bit
We’ve got to be organized first
And then we move forward
organization breeds peace
Peace make you stay calm
Calm with a expectancy attitude
Everything is for you you’re going to win
A certain kind of organization
A cool kind of peace ☮️
halfmoonprincess Dec 2018
I have retired,
long ago, from my duties
my wonderful job
That has made me millions.

You best think twice
before your arrogance rolls
from the tip of your tongue.
Know, when you undermine me
Next to others among,
That I have made millions.

I’ve fed mouths
Raised beautiful souls,
Scrubbed till my skin cracked,
Squatted till my bones ached,
Cooked art till my heart was content but,
I have no right to complain
I never look back on my life with shame,
because I have made millions.

I arose at the glint of the sunrise
Filled my ears with the bellowing
Of vendors and their creaking carts
Sacrificed my sleep
To sustain my job
because my efforts are worth millions.  

I was dedicated,
Worked hard for my family,
my tendrils of hair askew
I continued my work
Masked my emotions,
Even when I was feeling blue
all because I was too busy making millions.

I kept my “office” ***** and span
Invented my own tips and tricks
since I was passionate
about making millions.

I wonder if you think I am worthless but
I simply sit back and smile because
I tell myself
I was a queen in my line of work
I didn’t just make beds,
I made wonderful souls
It never required money
I never had to get paid  

Now,
The thin wrinkles on my hand
Remind me that
I am more than satisfied,


Because I know
I’ve made millions.
Poem I wrote for my English final this year... I wrote this on my grandmother.
LeV3e Apr 2018
I should probably eat better
And quit smoking soon
Money ends up with the debtor
And stocks pop like balloons

I know that I should know better
But what do you know?
Claiming to "know THE creator"?
What an absurd notion...

I really should exercise more
Spend less time online
At least I'm not so immature
To pretend I know what's Divine.
Trading prophits for profit$
Daina Mar 2018
It's all a large scale
Trust without reliability is useless
Reliability without trust almost makes no sense
Words and actions
No, actions and words
You see one's before the other because it speaks louder
But I speak as loud as I do now for I've learned from my mistakes- I nearly lost what I once had- I can't imagine it being gone at that point where would I be right now
There's no other option besides her.
------------------------------------------------------------­----------

Sleeping

I'd be sleeping
If the girl hadn't kept me up playing her sad love songs but I didn't mind it because I liked them
See, they made me feel a little closer to her- closer than I could be right now and the songs they keep ringing and playing
They're louder than my words louder than my actions they have blown off my once beautiful flesh and I'm now laying in a peach colored bath looking in a camera at myself thinking
**** what a mind can do to you with just an emotion
And she's still playing her sad love songs and the water is getting cold and I feel like in drowning and yet everything is okay it's in my head
I'm letting it all get to me-
But wait
It is.
I am the center of me and she is the center of she
We've been preparing for a decade it seems
Like two worlds colliding it's a scary thing but what of the outcome?
Beauty.
Our life isn't lonely anymore,
We have created a new.
I didn't hear the sad long songs anymore. I even outgrew them. And the air was so clear, like my mind. I didn't worry about the scale it was as natural as her beauty, and mine- she says.
And that was that.
Trust, reliability, words, actions,
And beautiful consequences.
It's been a long ******* day. ****.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Can I show you how beautiful you are? Can I take out the old photo albums and push my index finger into the faces, the places, and seas? I want to peel back the plastic and remove the square photographs from their sticky setting. I'm alluding to ideas that exist more formidably on the internet- there are no paper photographs, no sticky settings, there aren't even faces in the numbers; it's only ever been you or me.

Some of my things are crooked. The strings don't work, the wires are twisted and make the sounds all come out funny. There's a strange buzzing everywhere, it's like Mickey's gray cloud, a cloud Koopa throwing spiked shells from Park Avenue beach to Montrose street. Everything is quiet, consuming, unassuming and still recalcitrant. I'm showing nothing to nobody. Coaxing storm systems and netting foul play and ***** tricks, with my pants around my ankles or my fly unzipped.

I'm stinking of this stuff. These sudorific crevices on the insides of my thighs. I'm more or less always pacing. Rocking. Rolling. Small room I'm living room, cadavers I stuff my skinny fingers inside of- cold, wet hollow places I'm seeking skin covered gods in. I'm craving tastes and flavors. I'm looking at these pictures of me, of my face and the clothes I wore, the people that knew me. Where have I disappeared to? Every place that I went, every condition of my humanness has gone. Five minutes past my certainty, squirting hot molten magma from my ****, my lips, and my fingertips. Hysterical thoughts and homily. I want just a hello. I want just a hello.

— The End —