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Bhill Nov 2019
Wasting it is shameful

Brian Hill - 2019 # 295
You will never get it back!
Sometimes I wonder
Why my heart chose you
Because I'm getting married
And you're married too
Sometimes I wonder
Will we ever talk
And if you made a move
Would I reciprocate or walk
Sometimes I wonder
Does she know my name
Does anyone know about me
Do you wonder the same
Sometimes I wonder
That maybe he knows
But when I spoke the words I liked you
The joke went right under his nose
Sometimes I wonder
Have I read the signs wrong
Or if you've written about me
Because I know you write songs
Sometimes I wonder
Will these feelings ever end
Because when I get married
I don't want to pretend
Nihit Bhatia Mar 2018
what a shameful world we live in,
where we cannot even protect,
the dreams of innocent children,
where we cannot give shelter,
to another religion in our home,
where we cannot provide schooling,
to our students without being shot,
where colored faces are shot,
without standing a chance of justification,
where citizens are classified,
as second class citizens based on their race,
where occupied citizens are treated,
as prisoners in their own country,
what a pathetic world we live in.
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating ****** quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
All throughout history of  man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, ******
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
Twenty first century **** Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, ****** outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the ****** thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, *******, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth ******* animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male *** mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid ****** unwanted villainous withering zeal!
Carson Hurley Feb 2016
If I was a painting
I would be the chewed up canvas, dashed in disgruntled colours,
torn from the easel in dismay and cast aside in neglect.

I am a failed first draft that nobody wants to read.
Äŧül Dec 2015
Either they don't imagine guys like me anymore,
Or they can't trust & hold on to guys like me any longer.

Such is the vanishing breed of the good guy-***-tiger,
Perhaps they are so used to living in evil that good seems evil ever.

Succumbing to emotional injuries we get softer,
Perhaps we have learnt to subjugate forever.
My HP Poem #946
©Atul Kaushal
Beryl Lao Jul 2015
I’m in my jammies
Gah! I’m such a brute
When did I become
This disgraceful
This overbearing?

I am not
No longer
A lady of poise
Dysfunctional lifestyle
I can’t.
The noise!

My god
I’m a disgrace
I can’t even cook.
My god, I can’t -
No longer
Finish a book

I’m so annoyed
Ah so annoyed!
When did I let
Myself go
When did I stop
Putting on a show

Is this the real me?
I can’t recognise
She’s long gone by now
Who I was before

Sorry I can’t remember
They say our cells replenish
Each year
And for that
My graceful self
I no longer hear

Maybe I was meant to be like this
A *** bellied pig
Well I feel like I am
With a stomach
So big

No, I’m not pregnant
Although I wish I were
So that I may have a reason
For overeating
Oversleeping and sneezing
On cat fur

A grumpy old woman
I wish I was
Instead I’m a disgrace
To all nineteen year old graduates
Of top universities
That has

Fostered our minds
Stuffed it
With ideas that conjure
All the wrong things
Deemed right;
All the good – obscure.

My question to
My disgraceful self
Is when do I pick her up or -
If someone will ever help?

It’s okay if they don’t
It’s okay if they’re disguted
I too am
But maybe
Like in university
We can adjust it.

But as of now I’m fine
No thank you
I’m okay
The couch
The ice cream
And watching TV all day

I’ll pick myself up
I’m sure
This house
The people in it
They know that
For sure.
Pffft!!! I can't stop laughing at myself as I'm writing it right now.
I'm literally wearing my jammies as of this day... at 2:34 PM in the afternoon. I'm such a slug.
Michaela Ferris Apr 2015
Maybe if I cut myself
Or made myself prettier and thinner
Then you would love me,
Not leave me all alone.

Maybe if I made that jump
Or made myself in your image
Then I would finally be good enough
And not an outcast.

Maybe if I cut myself
Or made myself prettier and thinner
Then you would finally love me
And I wouldn't be the shameful daughter.
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