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Bekah Halle Jul 1
Sporting spotty socks,
would not seem that obscene,
but under a pristine cream suit
they poke fun at the ‘proper '”
at the crème De la crème.

Maybe that’s the theme of my curly locks;
Subverting the straight-jacketing of everyday life?!
Smelly socks old and gray
They’ve holes and they’re *****
And they smell of old cheese
And holes in the knees
Smelly socks on the flour
A sad sock at the end of its day.
Socks 🧦🧦
Lee Holloway Jun 15
Would you be my shoebox
a sturdy contraption, pleasingly
geometrical and versatile
able to cradle our heavy hearts
and hide all kinds of secrets

I could be your carpet
you can walk all over me
as I protect you from the cold
the unvarnished truth and its splinters

Or I could be your socks and shoes
you can walk around in me all
day all snug and warm at least
until they need replacing
around this time next year
Lostling Jun 14
"Be flexible, the flexible ones are those who survive."

No.
We are the ones who get taken advantage of.
They see us bend once--
Heart stretching, limbs folding backwards--
We don't break.
Instead we always fix ourselves
A smile stretched across our faces.

And so they pull
Push
Twist
Yank
All because we're flexible
All because we can handle it
My sibling took my socks while we were packing for our trip, leaving me with less socks than needed. I found them and took them back. Then we got into a fight. Our mom told us that "flexible people are the ones who survive in the world."
Maybe she doesn't know what it's like to always give in, to be a pushover. Anyways so now I'm wearing shoes with no socks about to hike up a mountain cause I'm too ****** to unpack my luggage.
(I can reuse so I have enough, but she took what mine and I feel like no one cares)
Gary Feb 16
A drainpipe, a drain, and an old sock.

3 things that may not mean a lot

to you.

To me they do.

When the latter is connected to the former.

Nothing gets through.

My dads idea.

What a man.
Gary Feb 16
Are you the one that plots and schemes?
knitting below the guillotine

Are you the one that hastens gloom?
by shielding sun and clouding moon

Are you the one that plots and schemes?
knitting below the guillotine.

Are you the siren with sleight of hand?
who wrecks young lives on rocky land.

Are you the one that plots and schemes?
knitting below the guillotine.

Are you the one with the underhand?
who  builds a promise on shifting sands.

Are you the one that plots and schemes?
knitting below the guillotine.

Are you the one on either side?
Devil's advocate, friend and guide.
Kewayne Wadley Dec 2024
There’s a girl I know on Mars
Who wears tube socks
With everything she wears,
No matter if they’re stretched out or not.
There, the wind barely blows,
It barely even whistles.
But she doesn’t like her feet
To get cold.

Every time we talk,
We talk about everything
And nothing.
She sits at home and watches
The stars from her window,
Swinging one of her legs
From the arm of the couch.

I told her that I’d mail her a new
Pair of socks if I could find
A pair with Mars on them,
And a pair that had the moon
Printed on them.
Especially that far out, I bet they’re
Hard to find.

Maybe I’d settle for a pair myself,
To see what she sees in these things,
After all, she always wears them.
Maybe I’ll get her a pair that stretches
To her knees,
A solid color to match her couch,
To hide the red dirt that creeps
In her house.

After all, we’re human.
We need something that connects us
To who we are, who we used to be.
Anything to make us feel
More important than what we are
Karma Oct 2024
Playing with rocks,
Digging in socks,
Playing with spades in the sand.

The metal is hot
When the fire green fox
Steps on and burns up your hand.
There’s a hole in your chest.
Did you do your best?
There’s no one to fill in your grave.

Your now lonely friend
Will die in the end;
The one friend that you couldn’t save
Will be found at the end of his cave.
Karma Oct 2024
Pet sitter from Saturn
Notices the pattern
Of floating rocks
Round kitty socks
And counts them as they go-

In twilight’s hush the sitter comes
With gentle hands, she greets the hum
Of furry hearts, once bright and bold,
Now singing softly stories told.

Interstellar, deep, where memories cling,
She feels the pulse of everything.
A wagging tail, a purring sigh,
The warmth of love as moments fly.

But time, that thief, it creeps and steals.
Now all that’s left are tender feels.
The blankets kneaded and graveyard heeded
And the sitter is left defeated
In the ash of the life she now chided.
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