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When I see the tension creep into your shoulders
As you hunch over your keyboard,
A spring coiling, about to explode -
When I hear the expletives crashing on walls
From outside my door -
When I can no longer breathe
The caustic, charged air -
I have two choices:
(I will not - can not fight)
I can freeze,
Make myself small,
Become the doe
With eyes locked straightforward,
Glassy, removed...
Or
I can grab the headphones,
Change into running shoes,
Caress my lithe curves,
And feed my body to the sky,
As I fly.
When you refuse to take care of yourself -
I must be my own protector,
And this fierce goddess
Is beholden to no one.
Panda Feb 2018
Wildly Thrashed Thoughts
Unnecessary Screaming
But only within
We all have those days in which we're screaming inside while wearing a face of content.
the server seems not
of a serving attitude
for almost twenty hours
it's been in an off latitude

why does the server
keep mucking us around
its ongoing behavior
is so seriously profound

we're at our wits end
putting up with it
constantly being down
we've had enough of it

servers must serve
a purpose well
instead of giving us
service hell*

we await the server's
change for the better
of late its been acting
*like a tantrum setter
Broody Badger Mar 2017
I'm throwing tantrums at the page I know that now.
I just want to see if they will stick
& what they will finally say
once I complete.
How many things can one word say
How many words can one page hold
How many girls can I **** in a lifetime
some or many
None.
Any.
Slip into my cinderblocks—pretty
New style,
smack Breaks tile,
Wait for the fuckboys to finish fillin up the fish tank, I'm at the bottom
feelin petty,
Suckin blue,
Countin out the seconds till I'm trapped beneath this filthy pool.
Thrash tantrum,
Flash forward,
Zoom zoom
I look up and wonder will the elephants come save me, but there's not one in the room,
nobody watchin
Im a goner,
and I've been one
ever since I started kicking in the water.
The Trumpoet Feb 2017
Snowflake is a word that the trumpists will use
to describe those of us who have different views.
They say we're entitled, they say that we whine,
they say give Trump a chance and we'll all be just fine.

They claim that we snowflakes are spreading fake news,
and cannot accept, when a battle we lose.
They say snowflakes get angry each time we don't win.
They claim we have tantrums and very thin skin.

Let them call us all snowflakes, and reason will show
that the number one snowflake... is someone we know!
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/ZHAYUw9n00c
Written January 23, 2017
Rachel Sterling Oct 2015
I'm drinking good coffee and eating good foods and watching fires burn low and gazing at crisp, clear, sparkly night skies.

And you aren't!

I'm reading books. I'm watching films. I'm listening to new music. I'm learning new things. I'm meeting new people and growing, growing, growing.

And you're not!

I'm creating art works and planning and writing and going new places and exploring new things. I am walking up city side walks and down country roads and hiking up old trails and seeing ruins.

And you are not.

I wish you were here with me; doing these things.

**** you. You aren't.
...And then I claimed hell and embedded my soul in mercury

Spun in cotton candy.
Sweet and dandy.
Honey of kindness is what I *usually
am.

        Glazed with a temper of redness and lust
        With reckless catapults of whimsical feathered *****.
         In carefully-woven baskets
         Bombarding blanks with loud bangs.
         And an identity which took years to make,
         I'm a bi-tempered soul of icy / lava flow.

Wanting, needing, consuming life...

Give me flattery and attention!
I was exempt from life's detention!
I was spoiled by the caring hearts of my DNA angels!
    
       Rage first, I protest.
       Regrets later, I detest.
       I'm a clusterfuck of mixed intentions.
       Real words don't spill much beyond fire lake.
Sometimes, we have that bad attitude suppressed inside our peaceful vessels.

John Archievald Gotera © 2015

— The End —