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Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
This a weekend shirt, that some people wear you
down on a weekend shift. I met a nice girl at a party,
where it was a plus one, yet the body was a plus two.
If she fell in love with my sharp mind, I'd plead to her,
"I hope it never cuts you"

But here's a plot twist; when you share your heart
with someone so heartless, You pray that they would
love you regardless. But here's how the continuation of
that story goes:

A young boy activity, activities of extra curriculum,
used of messing around with girls. Open conversations,
with closed results. Still needing them all. Energies so little,
but loads of choices we can make to be safe. Riding the front
tooth for a bite of love, and kissing in perfect waves.

I’ve got nickels, quarters and dimes, of all the money on
girls overspent. So maybe there’s a cost to the regrets.
Of the lack of sense I’ve got left. Owed the change, to the
better things of my life cares. Or those truths after dares.

Resemble this, when you remember this.
When you’re still young calling any potential a Miss.
“I miss you texts,“ under the blankets, with the lights glaring
in my eyes. I send happy emojis, as if that’s how I really smile.
Don’t forget to say good morning, or at least say hi after your
tender goodbye. Oh wait! Never mind.

I’ll just type the message with my data off. Turn it on in
the morning, and the message is sent to look like the sweetest
actions of sweet words.

“Hello,“ we open ourselves to casual talk.
Cheering each other up for the day, and the struggles we’ll
face at work. “Of course I’ll be thinking about you till the last,"
I’ll say as a start into sexting for some breakfast lust.

Put on that mask, not for my mouth or nose,
but for the face scars. Untrimmed beard, awkward growing hairs,
and a comb making sparks through the sounds of knots.
Put on my favourite red long socks, and pull out my jewellery
out of their treasure box.

I get a quick text from her, and read the message as a notification.
Thinking about the best reply to use while putting on my shoes,
and promising to make it to her place, if she shares the right location. Lotion on my face, heavy cologne on my neck.

Spray, Spray!

Vaseline on my morning dry lips, lick it into place
so petroleum stays in it’s grips. Spending the Friday morning skipping through work. The final whistle blows, thinking I can
get my whistle blown. And here I am again; off into the world.

In town on my phone long texting this girl. Oh how will
this story go? Who really knows, but just it’s end. As her and I pretend to still be friends.

A word to hide behind our guilt. Making myself out as
the *** guru in quick words, but that’s not how I was built.

So as I got close to the deed’s door, I just run off.
I couldn’t play the song to the dance of chance,
without the right chords. So in the end, I just found myself
better off staying the weekend at home. Peacefully alone.

I'm that weekend shirt. And feeling like a piece of shirt.
Ron Gavalik Mar 26
You are the elixir
of overworked men
a companion
for lonely souls
and a boxing ring
for the fighting spirit
Your camaraderie
leads to immediate
regret
but such pain
forces peace
in the new day
I S A A C Mar 21
ive been going out every weekend
i dont know if its bad or good
i don’t know if im sad or masking
I dont know if i am replacing habits with other bad habits
maybe im the bad habit
the liable rabbit that fell down the rabbit hole
i always seem to overflow
producing tears by the bucket load
i didnt mean to unload too much
unfold too much, save that for drunken spring brunch
grateful for my team, i know that much
but its hard to me to show my real love
but i live and i learn, i larbour and earn
i wait for my turn, the tables always seem to turn
take a left, trust i’m right, work the day, come alive at night
luciana Oct 2021
Smoke lingers from every corner of the street
A sad man leans on the side of a closed barbershop
Rustic silver bars hold up the stumbling drunks
The man thinks to himself
"a sad sober man is just as pathetic as a careless drunken man"
man with a bandsaw
incredibly obnoxious
7am, ****
© 2021 J.J.W. Coyle
Dave Robertson Oct 2021
I would scorch the end of the cork
and score bags under my eyes
if the black of my tired spleen
was not already weighing

Like the luggage of the ******
packed in haste, always in haste
so that essentials are oft forgot
like health, or peace, or dignity

As it is, the cork stays unburnt,
but out of the bottle
as a gentle “**** the lot of you.”
Nik Bland Sep 2021
Dear Saturday,  I write to you from foreign lands
I'm in a Monday I'm not sure I understand
The day is shining, yet I am in misery
All these strange people seem to be yelling at me

Oh, dearest Saturday, your ways are now my own
You hold me close in bed and say I can stay home
The other the days just seem to get in the way
The only mutual friend I seem to have's Friday

Dear Friday, you introduced me to my love
Out and about we where, trying to rise above
Monday through Thursday called me friend, bit caused me strife
But you showed me the day that would improve my life

Dear Saturday,  the way you treat me oh, so well
Has shown me heaven in a week filled with hell
I will hang onto Monday only for so long
But I'll miss you more than ever simply when you're gone
Leocardo Reis Jul 2021
I have known
no loneliness
like that of
a Saturday night.
Left To Rot Jun 2021
The sun shone above the clouds,
my mind was razor-sharp like shark's teeth,
my hands were shaking like I was cold
at nearly 81 degrees.
The sun shone above the clouds,
my body spasmed, covered in sweat,
my legs trembled as I checked around
searching for any bottles left.
The sun still shone above the clouds
as I showered, drank coffee and left the house
looking for whatever distraction I could find,
ended up drunk at a parking lot.
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