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jade May 2
there were pizza and grapes on the counter
i couldn't choose which one to eat

i know pizza is bad for me, but i like it
and i know grapes are better for me, but i prefer pizza

so, i went with the pizza.

and now, im hurt.
i dunno if i love or hate this one, but thank you for reading
Gemma Mar 12
You know it will burn,
but you bite it anyway,
because it tastes good.
Ouch, yum.
Lead K Jan 31
Pizza are Italy's handprint on your lover's neck
Seek the deep meaning under the cushions of Neptune's couch
I mean, there's money and food in there?
In is Outside
Inth Ere
New York, Chicago, Roma, Naples . . . Tombstone
Tam Jan 10
She smiles at customers
while making rounds
in this busy town.

Pizza comes
out of the oven.




Taste buds are in heaven.

Children smile
with splendid delight
when the pizza delivery
gal is in sight.


It’s not all smiles.

She can go for miles
with no gratitude
because of an
*******’s attitude.

she gets tipped.

Other times,
she gets gypped.

when she tells stories
of tips and smiles
from pizza glory,

I remember,

This is the life
of pizza delivery

Sometimes it *****

There's hope within
the misery.
This is literally the cheesiest poem I've written.  And probably the cheesiest one you've read. It was inspired after hearing many stories from my ex about delivering pizza to various different customers... customers ranging from horrid to wonderful.
LLillis Jul 2020
The dough spins above,
Launched from floured hands, they wait.
Curse that ceiling fan.
Pizza making is a lot of fun. Except when you underestimate exactly how high you can toss a dough. least it’s spinning!
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
“of late, I have been falling in and out of love with words.” (Pradip)

Dear Pradip,

yeah had them symptoms too, pizza and penicillin, lost my sense of taste and smell, but neither helped, guessing gets tougher, when older, all those associated, assorted, amazing never ending, abracadabra, baptismal-bathing-broadening, buttered-up jobs & responsibilities when your suddenly taller by a new generational addition to the family tree, which means much more concerning, burning worrying words, you dare not say aloud, cause Shiva is too interested, and has too many arms, in interfering with your many small pieces of composure in pandemic days.

Sorry, buddy got no solution, maybe rubbing alcohol, maybe hard liquor, prayers on knees to a 57 variety of deities, try a different temple, start the week on a Wednesday, learn to rhumba, practice meditation way out loud, be annoyingly concerned bout everybody else, offer to do all the kids homework, buy the wife a new dress so you can have an argument regarding wasting money, so you can kiss and make up, heck and ****, you could even write crazy words in any order your personal dictionary commands, reorganizing them in reverse order, and then slapdash them together and call it stew,

don’t matter as long as you got the jaw jawing, the eyes winking, the people looking at you like you gone cuckoo mad, tell your children how much you love them in the middle of day, wave to a neighbor across the street, the gossipy one who always spying on you, sing some cowboy ***-on-little-doggie lullabies, interspersing a Yellow Submarine, croon A Long and Winding Road, and Do Not Forget to include Let It Be, preach with a whang damnastic fever to the street peddlers, then ask for a better price, by now your not-so-well repute will precede you, everyone be offering a cool drink, or hot tea, fresh paneer, really big discounts, the most comfy chair, asking what else ya need, tell ‘em a pen and some paper, please, and everyone will be relieved! cause you back to merely, plain, ordinary crazy, simply composing that wonderful poetry you love to
w r i t e
and everything is
r i g h t
in the world.

other than that, got no consoling words. Sorry.


The Natster
Anais Vionet Jul 2020
I stumble pajamaed, half asleep toward the object of my desire.
in memory, it calls to me, of passionate pleasures experienced prior.
The morning's night is the consummate time for secret rondeaus discrete.
With ninjaly sneak I arrive at the door - my illicit joy within reach.
But to my horror I find the pizza gone - again, my trust is breached!
a humous look at lust... and pizza
Nigdaw Apr 2020
do you want anything
from the shops
she said
it used to be pizza and beer
nowadays just
you home safely
my love
Bernard Apr 2020
I told her about the pizza place
The one I bought in a dream

"We'll meet there in our dreams"
What a promise
"I'll make the dough, you'll choose the toppings"
What a programme

"We'll meet" she said
"We'll meet" she repeated
Again and again
Until she stopped

Now she meets another one in her dreams
What a let down
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Today I got taken out
of my box and nuked
for a dizzy-filled eight minutes,
all my artificial byproducts,
and something close to,
but not quite called, meat
melted and congealed together
in a semi-appetizing way,
just enough to be consumed
in a famished **** of teeth,
gums, and spittle,
and here I now sit in a pit
--purgatory's gut--
dreaming I was made of real
pepperoni and sausage,
running free in the open fields
of DiGiorno.
Inspired by the poem "Monologue of What Was Once a Sunkist Orange" from fellow HP writer Yacov Mitchenko, which is a really good poem by-the-way.
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