If I dye my hair pink Do you think my emotions will turn innocent? Do you even perceive pink as a innocent color? What do you want me to be? I'll be it just to get your attention, Just to get your time. Give me sugar, So I can bleed and be sweet at the same time. Sugar doesn't heal, But it makes you feel better for some time. But I'll only eat it until I feel full. I don't wanna get fat, So I'll throw you out too. I'll dye my hair black then, So you know you'll never see me again. Cause black is a mean color, And you're not into mean girls
Sugar daddy At seventy Always ready Carry in his arms Wife of twenty He has plenty Sugarcane fields Sugar mills Mercedes Benz Rolls Royce He has a wide choice He has a son He has a daughter In their twenties He spent lacs On their degrees Across dining table They seldom agree His young wife Pacifies them all His son has Girl friend in her sixties Daughter doesn't lag behind She wants marry A man in his seventies Sugar daddy doesn't agree They accuse him of double standards His young wife coaxes him while he tastes honey Disown them Write a will Bequeathing her With his all wealth and money She's faithful and loyal to him Keeps her boy friend at an arms length Displays great courage and strength Fasts on Karva Chauth Not even a single drop of water till the end Watching through sieve The moon in the sky She prays and hopes Her moon of seventy Soon to die With her boyfriend and all the wealth Happily she would live forever His daughter to marry A sugar daddy His son to marry a sugar mommy No one there for sugar daddy to cry!
Alone on the pedestrian bypass bridge, breathing summer sunset, I swirl the stubby balsa spoon on my tongue as the evening commute buzzes beneath my feet,
and wonder: how did I miss this all before? how wind washes bare arms, world still soft round the sharp edges; how ivy lush covers thickly the brick walls over, and brazen broad-leafed bushes crowd onto cobblestone street corners, and wistful weeds cushion cement sidewalk cracks;
how when the sun’s rays are blades from the horizon, our city lights twinkle tight but tap dance so light on the retina in the vignetted sky of creamsicles and cotton candy; and how the frozen chocolate chips break brittle between my teeth and the cookie-dough bite’s so smooth and still so tooth-melting sweet
Chocolate cakes from Cocoa beans Vanilla cream from vanilla beans Strawberries and small berries Blueberries and raspberries Juice made in squeeze machines Put into pretty canteens Sugary frosting and treats Made into lovely sweets Lemon cakes with lemon flakes Powdered sugar sift on cakes Apple and berry pies A feast for the eyes In the oven, they all rise ~20/4/21
I like sweets; they're loved by all, Sold in shiny wrappers; around the world, Hard, soft, brittle bendy, they satisfy the mouth comprendy? But they rot the teeth, and stick to your jumper, Oh to be an umpa lumpa!
sometimes, all you can do is feel small. breath held, for the slightest exhale could be of the wrong tone— just silence. silence. silence speaks louder than words, so, silence. but even that— sometimes too sweet on the tongue, too many tablespoons of sugar. silence too sweet like sugar cane stinging the back of your throat. silence. just silence.
Passing around a fatal flaw like a joint in a hot box, Refreshing baths of Coca~Cola and regretful indulgence. I'm wasting away in a paradise of my own creation!
Poems tinted grey through abstinent romanticism, and an inexplicable undertone inherent to my prose. As everything starts to return to a drumming constant. It all sounds the same. Like ashen trees and factories which procrastinate and suffocate.
We've been sunbathing in porcelain skies and lonely daydreams. I know it sounds dramatic but as is the nature of reality. Drab and dreary and acid washed. Interrupted like a beach by the sea, By the little peices of honey soaked warmth that act as comforting distractions. A smile or a shoulder or a sunny day to drink from. Summer and solitude, the likeness of warm bodies in a cold pond. So. Compose me an opera of Soda Cans and of choral song. Of coffee and two bass lines and pollen and folk. Make it for me so I can watch you as you work. Let me listen and bask in its ludacris vanity, and clean shallow waters. How I would relish the time spent muddying the current. Destroying the tide out of boredom. And black hot frustration.
Flowers painted in acid and acrid accounts of repetative revalations in the context of rude rosy cheeked acceptance. Blonde haired ignorance and one dimensional delusions. Blue eyed terrorists armed with air and arrogance.
Give me seatwarmers and handholding Or corvettes and convertables. Give me arrowheads and heart attacks Humble my bones with a cardiac
!F.R.I.E.N.D.S.! SITCOMS ADJASENT PLOTLINES mumble rap AND ***** TALK HOTLINES seven letter words with little context or meaning and selfless expression that's often demeaning
Its September in January and it rains for a day And despite our efforts We still waste away