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I want to dance
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Give me a chance
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To rave and burn
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Til I can turn
A whole new
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ys Nov 2017
wardens trying to catch the running thoughts… here and there, snakes become ladders.

jailbirds of a different kind, pink and yellow trunks, see-through vests. they're way too many, they can't be numbered.

parole impossible, behaviour mad… drinking spirits and each other, in equal parts. pink dogs with zebra tails, fetching make-believe bones lost amidst psychedelic sunflowers.

thoughts helter skelter, in the tiny vastness, where only grey matters. bright flashes creep in at the bat of an eye, the hazy images of the outside world.

'em wardens are back, logic loaded in their guns. six rounds, a million too few… but now the dogs found something to chew!
gibberish... and not
wendee mcmoon Nov 2017
I walk down the street, my hair messy
My makeup sliding off
My sweatpants riding low on my hips, dragging on the ground, collecting dirt
And a low cut tank top.
Tired, exhausted, worn out. Unattractive. And that's okay.
What's not okay is when a car slows down and yells
"Hey pretty girl! Where you off to?"
I freeze
Attention is not something I'm looking for
It's a bed that I'm seeking
A good night's sleep
But instead of a bed I find
A man
Yelling unwanted compliments out of his car window as I walk back home.

Should I answer? What would I say?
Should I be honest? "I'm going home. Off to bed."
I know what the response would be. "Can I come too?"
Or maybe I can say "I'm going to see my girlfriend."
I don't have a girlfriend, but for the next five minutes,
She's right up that hill, waiting in her room to see me.
No, his response would be "That's hot! Can I come too?"
Or maybe I have a boyfriend instead.
More effective.
More dangerous. More of a threat than a girlfriend would be.
No, to that he'd say "He's letting you walk by yourself?
Must not be much of a man. I bet I could take him in a fight."
Which brings up many more issues
(i can walk by myself if he were real he would respect me so thats more than you do if he were real he wouldnt fight some random ******* over me treat me like a PERSON god ******)
That I would not want to address with someone as dangerous
As a man telling me I'm pretty out of the window of his car.
Maybe I can say "Please leave me alone." Being direct is always the best option.
Unless he continues to follow me.
Or gets upset.
Or refuses to leave me alone.
Or gets out of his car or pulls me into his car or or or
I don't know. I don't want to think about it.

Or maybe I can just keep walking.
Ignore him, act like nobody said anything
Act like there isn't someone I have never met in my whole life
Yelling out of the drivers window of his car
Telling me I'm pretty.

There is no way out of the dangerous thing that is the male gaze
Once it begins
There is no easy way out.
Written for my Intro to Creative Writing class--the assignment was "Write an imitation of [Gregory] Corso's poem ["Marriage"]--rant and rave about your own fears."
Temporal Fugue Oct 2017
The day I died
I moved on
to other fields
and streams

The day I died
I heard no songs
but in harmony
my dreams

The day I died
the universe now

the flow and ride
with nothing left
to *****
That's prolly gonna be the day I stop ******* all together ROFL ;D
helena alexis Sep 2017
she met molly at a festival
molly made her happy
molly made her dance
molly made her forget

we’re gonna be best friends forever
molly whispered in her ear

she popped another
forever and ever
she replied with a smile
took molly at a rave and decided to write about it
A politician with a radio
and a fridge with a ****

as he spoke pidgin
and dapper the reason

that captured a signal
but stayed the season

'twas a gowan too
in stead brown hair

as a bride in favor  
yet deposed his table

though a granita now
will disguise his inference

yet detest his deference
in ridge there a pidgeon

flew his message away
and pearly was his religion
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
Spectrums to sound waves.
One infinite pulsing heart.
Synth to love you so...
NeroameeAlucard Jun 2016
What can you do if your own head doesn't make sense
the silence maddening to sit through and the cacophony of every day leaving inside your mind an unholy stench
It feels like there's in my head next to the iPad a ******* monkey wrench
I guess I don't understand anymore what's going on why can't this make sense
Unless I write my head will snap open and the scars will be visible
But sometimes even among most of my friends I can't help but feel invisible
Ridiculed and the things I helped bring become dead and forgotten
God it's like I'm listening to myself give a review on that site with tomatoes that are rotten
I'm not scheming or plotting just looking for that lighthouse in the fog
Because I can't find inspiration in this mental planet of smog
Imagine, heaven and earth,
Earth and ****.
It's up there.
Ionosphere, maybe.
Or maybe, Exosphere.
Think of Pangaea and Panthalassa.
Imagine, the lost world of Atlantis.
Geography students would know better.
Imagine good, and bad,
Bad, and worse.
Imagine, if your name were not,
What it is,
Imagine, if you were not,
What you are.
Imagine, delivering fantastic speeches,
Craft out, mesmerising poetries,
Look for topics,
Like you look for alloys,
In your wallet.
Everyone's a poet,
Poet, in their hearts,
They do write poems,
But the designer styli,
Defy to converge their thoughts.
Summarize life,
Felicity, will obviously be wrapped up,
And so will be your bad.
And try, and minimize your bad,
To the least,
Like you do with your savings,
On a rave.
And try, and amplify your bliss,
Like your cells multiply,
In every thirty minutes.
Imagine, and fall.
Fall, for every beautiful face,
Fall, for every beautiful day,
And moment.
And spread love.
Imagine, and fall,
Into an abyss,
Of thoughts,
Every single day,
Every single time.
The bald guy,
On our currency notes,
Smiling, at whatever number there is by him.
Smile, at whatever is given to you,
Smile, for whatever is given to you.
And just that.
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