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Uppity tuppity
Ding **** Daring
Here comes something
Thats truly worth sharing

A ticket for me
A ticket for you
To our destiny
That we choose

A movie, a scene, a story, a dream
Living it, doing it
Life can be a thing
Anything actually... sort of

Happiness, sing
About like well anything you know
What rhymes with orange
Orange things?

A slice for me, a slice for you
Of any recipe, we choose to use
Who knew, that i was...
Awful at cooking, i did

Practice, study, learn, enjoy
Use the knowledge, you employ
Upon all things
That we can enjoy

April 23 2019
....(this was so ******)
? uhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Well, in other news, Avengers Endgame is coming out
I'd love to go see it with someone
Yep, 25th 26th, right down the road from my house
Is a theater xO
i have been there like 5 times now
And

It's always empty, 1 guy, all the seats can can jump on
I love jumping around an empty theater xD
Alec Astaire Mar 24
Ready to explode
Wait a minute, don’t leave me
Things will get butter
Kagami Mar 7
I still cry over you.
I still mourn the love we had.
As pure as it was.
I never thought we'd be here.
Though another love has graced me,
I miss your unique touch
And the way you appreciated me.
Mistakes make us.
And break us.
I don't blame you.
I never did.

I can't listen to Van Halen
Or watch more of the shows we binged
Or even eat popcorn
Without thinking of you and everything we had.
Nostalgia plagues me
And keeps me feeling
Even though I shouldn't.
I was engaged to a wonderful man, once upon a time. I was ***** by who I thought was a friend. Neither of us knew how to deal with it, and for a while, he was in denial about the violent act. He wanted to believe I had just cheated rather than been violated because it was easier to deal with, even though that thought process made him feel betrayed. It ended. It had to. But I can't help but still love him and miss him, even if its just nostalgia.
Amanda Oct 2018
Dimmed lights and soft leather sheen
As voices fade to a murmur
Music booms out from a panoramic screen
As we are pulled into an electric adventure
Popcorn spills onto worn out carpet ply
And ice creams licks fill the silent pauses
Then a mobile ring causes an angry outcry
And the guilty party leaves, to quiet applauses
Magically we are transported into imagined worlds
Where Aliens live and spaceships fly solo
We watch as the good and evil story unfolds
The twists and turns as our hero fights his foe
Then the end and our hero survives
And we cheer and whoop at the final battle
An evening of excitement in our everyday lives
And we leave counting days to the sequel
Out of sight out of mind,
A saying that seems to be underrated,
Thought mostly about objects of disgust or stress,
And since I've objected to being anything more than an object,
This categories fits my life,
Even when acting like a faulty car part; the check engine light remains being of little concern,
"I'll just drive till it dies"
It's just the cost isn't worth it,
with all the time we spend in it,
Eventually the light turns off,
No rhyme or reason just the decision to love unconditionally...
Or the
The car dies used
just like popcorn -

those soft, incredible clouds
appearing from what
once was

solid,
golden,
rock -

my thoughts are formed.

out of nowhere,
another pops into my mind,
joining it's fellow corns,

only to later

be consumed,
rearranged,
and discarded

by people who

aren't
even
me.


- v.m
i was eating popcorn, then this happened.
Haley Tyler May 2018
There's popcorn on the ceiling,
a million bajillion clusters that I've spent days trying to count.
In the 1950's these ceilings exploded into popularity.
And until 1977, homeowners blasted asbestos covered popcorn toward the sky, letting mesothelioma fibers fall back to their floor like it was harmless dust.
I take a deep breath, letting the air settle deep in my chest before letting it back out.
My ceiling is probably not made of asbestos.
It's probably styrofoam or some other cheap, paper-based product.
I take another deep breath.
The EPA banned the use of asbestos in these ceilings.
Apparently, inhaled in large quantities, asbestos causes lung disease, lung scarring, and lung cancer.
Another deep, deep breath.
I continue counting the probably not cancer causing popcorn.
I wonder if I would be able to feel the particles swimming in my lungs like fiber glass–thin, delicate, sharp.
I wonder if it would **** me.
I wonder if my family would file a claim like you see on those old commercials screaming,
"If you or a loved one developed mesothelioma you, yes you, could be entitled to compensation."
Or, something like that.
Breathe.
The air tastes funny.
My ceiling is most likely not made of asbestos.
But, I probably wouldn't care if it was.
I went down a weird internet spiral and now I know a lot about different kinds of ceilings | h.t.
PrttyBrd Apr 2018
trapped beneath a fitted rubber sheet
a lump in the mattress
suffocating on
rancid latex sweat
and yesterday's dried fluids

who were they
the nameless in the dark
this one smelled of popcorn
that on howled in delight

a collage of senseless noise
scented by cats and Ajax
leftovers always go bad

Chuck-will's-widow
in the tree by the window
it must be after midnight

though noon looks the same
in this cage that gives just enough
to torture with possibilities
of breaking free

freedom is overrated
roses stain glass
with the bloodletting
of thorny mishaps

blurred by smeared wounds
ain't life grand
when love ceases to be a goal

how can one find what is
utterly indefinable
if it cannot be decisively named
it cannot be concretely attained

then again, love's fluidity
is its charm
no hard edges
ebbing and flowing
elusive and longing

**** me latex blind
unseen and used
by those who never did mind
a lumpy mattress
041318
161w
Randy Johnson Sep 2017
People use your popcorn in popcorn poppers.
You were the one and only Orville Redenbacher.
Sadly, you died twenty-two years ago today.
Your popcorn is still being eaten and it's here to stay.
People were sad when you died in 1995.
You're deceased but your legacy survives.
Dedicated to Orville Redenbacher (1907-1995) who died on September 19, 1995.
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