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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

rock -

my thoughts are formed.

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

only to later

be consumed,
and discarded

by people who


- 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.
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

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
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.
Apoorv Shandilya Apr 2017
Concrete kisses
on sunlit flowers
Resemble ghosts of past lovers
and buckets of caramel popcorn.
and everything that is
good and pure.
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
My task is to write a reflection,
I ponder, what is worth my edification?
I shall reflect this day on---POPCORN!!!
Yes, Popcorn! Our pop culture it adorns,
Sweet caramel popcorn is digestive ****,
or do you like salted treats,
Popcorn, Popcorn, salted or sweet?
Ah, decisions, decisions, decisions,
A dither of popcorn reflection........
Feedback welcome.
CasiDia Sep 2016
when did you realize
 our street was on fire
   like sort of hanging over
       smearing the hate
         for themselves
          for the rest of us
            with spark head
              moving forward

    they don't go home
 this is popcorn classic
  movement of hands
     muses getting some
            covered in dust

         the noise being made
        over layers of humanity
                          eating itself


                 i don't know
   i do not understand
   i don't know how to
             but i could try
Poetria Jun 2016
What if** your brain
was just a small packet of popcorn
that desperately needed
a microwave.

What if it refuses
to operate
until you show it some love-
Let it open itself up.

What if all it wanted was
to feel a little more lightweight-
'pop' away the pressure of being
confined to a head-cage.

What if our brains
Were just raw popcorn pieces
That needed some heating
To melt away the pain.
Popcorn before heating looks so suffocating- it's no wonder that when energy is provided they just blast open into pretty little flowers.
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