you would have
liked me shallow
thoughts like dipping only
half a foot in the ocean
thoughts like simple
one sentence answers

you would have
liked me normal,
seeing black for black,
grey for grey

(on second thought,
grey is probably
just a darker shade of white)

you would have liked my soul
just as dull as you
but i'm a spark of colour
in a monochrome set of walls,
i am green life in
a concrete jungle

you would have liked
our discussions
to not even be discussion,
just small talk
half-assed thoughts,
lukewarm effort

but poets just don't think
like that.

our minds are
more like trees,
branching out in every
possible direction
landing on the moon and
settling for the stars
when we don't.

a/n: thankyou so much for reading! here's to the poets and to the few people that aren't shallow-minded.

Recently I've noticed, that the world's skin deep. We've stopped looking past our features, and started scanning from head to feet. Closed minds don't matter, when your legs are open wide. Just like a personality is worthless, when you only want physically inside. We say we want to find love, but only indulge ourselves in lust. Just  to wind up brokenhearted, and wondering who we can trust.

He’s a refugee of sorts
From society’s glitter gutter.
His nouveau riche attitude
Show in every word he utters.
That is where he’s from.
He’s nothing but glitter litter.
If he doesn’t get what he wants
He’s ******, obnoxious and bitter.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

His daddy bought him toys
Of the fanciest richest kind.
Dad didn’t care what it did to him.
He must have been blind.
He ruined the boy with money
Buying his way through college
So that when the boy left there
He had style and little knowledge.

Daddy gave him a nice fortune
To start off his spoiled whelp.
Son was never really good at much
But having a few million helped.
The kid liked glitz and glamour
And especially glittery women.
One after the other he used them
And never really got smitten.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

Now a few children later
They have become a bother.
They keep needing things
Like money from their rich father.
He wonders where they got
That sickening greedy habit.
He’s fears if they can get
His gold they'll surely grab it.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

And yet again, I care too much.
It burdens my shoulders
and suffocates me everyday.
Thoughts of everyone, everything,
efforts to remember,
it has consumed me
as would a storm.
To think that they-even you,
never wanted me,
it was always her.
Compare us
and I will always come up short.
And? I shouldn't even care.
It is dangerously shallow water to swim in;
but I cannot yet let it go:
I wish terribly to be
just one person's first choice.

Here's where the sip
drips slowly down my chin

she elaborates on the fragments
some self proclaimed
elopement
between her own bitter desires
to distinguish any fire
while she sits like cinders
singing the same praise
he once made

alone in the corner
headset tangled
her mania ignites
it's a spark
where she once knelt in
parking lots
throwing trash over fences
she stands taller
her embodiment of life
smaller

you sing to her like she's shallow
she cascaded down mountain sides
before she bent to you
sang behind the musty moments
of lover's eyes
broke bones
to mold the same life

you claim is your rightful
and true

she doesn't even beg
if only you knew.

Stuck in the moment of here and now
The writers hand becomes clouded by self doubt
He turns on his music for his mind to allow
The power of his words to crash about

A waterfall of his life flows from his wrist
Explosions of emotion fill up the page
Every new story a different experience
Showing why he stays in waters so shallow

Self love finds the sun to scare
Those doubtful clouds of grey
Bringing him strength to write
A heart aching pain away

How are things at the country club?
Was the glitter group too much?
Was that hot young rock star there?
Did you try to get in touch?
Did you catch the ear of
That famous new playwright?
Did the paparazzi catch your act?
Did you do your thing tonight?


Who got mad and who got drunk?
Give me all the dirt.
Who got ****** and struck a blow
And, oh yes, who got hurt?
You see now I understand;
I’m your after dinner lover.
When you’re going somewhere publicly
You find yourself another.

And I guess that’s just not good enough
To keep me satisfied.
To be the after dinner rose
You tried so hard to hide.
So call up Central Casting
And find yourself another.
For I am not content to be
Your after dinner lover.