#karaoke - Hello Poetry

I’ll inhabit the shadow you need me to be, The glitch in the system, the flaw in the plan. If blaming me keeps your own spirit free, I’ll play the antagonist as best as I can. For love isn’t always a hand held in light; Sometimes it’s a ghost slipping into the night. I remember the coffee, the steam in the air, The shared meals in breakrooms where time didn't exist. The way that we’d laugh without burden or care, Before all these memories turned into mist. We found our own rhythm in deadlines and tasks, Hiding our hearts behind professional masks. Then the world opened up by the salt of the sea, Where the waves met the shore and the city felt small. You were more than a colleague, more than a "we," You were the person who answered my call. But those lunches by water are ripples now gone, As I wait for a lonely and different dawn. I remember the bus rides, the sway of the frame, Watching the world passing by through the glass. The silence was heavy with things we’d never name, Watching the hours and the streetlights pass. But my favorite journey, the one I still feel, Was the heat of your presence behind the steel. The weight on my back as we rode on the bike, The wind in our hair and the engine’s low hum. That was the version of "us" that I like, Before I grew cold and before I grew numb. Your arms 'round my waist was the only true home, Across every mile that we happened to roam. But now, when I catch the sweet scent of your veil, That perfume that lingers like ghosts in the hall, My heart starts to stutter, my spirit grows pale, As I lean my head back 'gainst the cold office wall. It’s a nostalgic sting, a sharp, fragrant grief, That brings me no comfort and grants no relief. I know there is someone who holds you now, A different story, a different hand. So I’ll make this solemn and silent vow, To be the one person you can’t understand. I’ll distance myself till I’m out of your sight, And leave you to walk in his version of light. I’ll let myself be eaten by sadness and pride, While I play the "bad guy" so they’ll trust you still. I’ll keep every secret locked deep inside, And bend my whole life to your narrative’s will. If they need a villain to make you the saint, I’ll be the dark shadow, the smudge, and the taint. I won't tell them about the karaoke nights, The songs that we screamed till our voices gave out. Beneath the neon and the cheap, colored lights, There wasn't a flicker of worry or doubt. The kisses and hugs that we shared in the dark, I’ll bury them deep, leaving no single mark. Because to the world, I’m just "someone you knew," A colleague, a friend, or a face in a file. They don't know the depth of my "I love you," Or the miles that I’d walk just to see you smile. It’s a "stupid heart" thing, to love from afar, While watching you follow a different star. So I’ll never talk to you, not for a day, For the rest of your life, I’ll be quiet and still. I’ll let the memory of "us" fade to gray, As I climb up this lonely and desolate hill. I’ll proceed to never think of it again, The "how" and the "why" and the "where" and the "when." Go on and tell them I was the one who was wrong, That I was the villain who ruined the peace. I’ll carry that burden, steady and strong, To grant your reputation a total release. For the greatest devotion is vanishing whole, To protect the light of your beautiful soul. I’ll ride my motorcycle into the rain, With the seat behind me empty and cold. I’ll trade all the joy for this quiet pain, And leave the true story forever untold. I love you forever, in my silent way, In the things that I’ll never again get to say.

0

May 8

May 8, 2026 at 2:01 AM UTC

NBIhave3

A villain's Final act of love

I’ll inhabit the shadow you need me to be, The glitch in the system, the flaw in the plan. If blaming me keeps your own spirit free, I’ll play the antagonist as best as I can. For love isn’t always a hand held in light; Sometimes it’s a ghost slipping into the night. I remember the coffee, the steam in the air, The shared meals in breakrooms where time didn't exist. The way that we’d laugh without burden or care, Before all these memories turned into mist. We found our own rhythm in deadlines and tasks, Hiding our hearts behind professional masks. Then the world opened up by the salt of the sea, Where the waves met the shore and the city felt small. You were more than a colleague, more than a "we," You were the person who answered my call. But those lunches by water are ripples now gone, As I wait for a lonely and different dawn. I remember the bus rides, the sway of the frame, Watching the world passing by through the glass. The silence was heavy with things we’d never name, Watching the hours and the streetlights pass. But my favorite journey, the one I still feel, Was the heat of your presence behind the steel. The weight on my back as we rode on the bike, The wind in our hair and the engine’s low hum. That was the version of "us" that I like, Before I grew cold and before I grew numb. Your arms 'round my waist was the only true home, Across every mile that we happened to roam. But now, when I catch the sweet scent of your veil, That perfume that lingers like ghosts in the hall, My heart starts to stutter, my spirit grows pale, As I lean my head back 'gainst the cold office wall. It’s a nostalgic sting, a sharp, fragrant grief, That brings me no comfort and grants no relief. I know there is someone who holds you now, A different story, a different hand. So I’ll make this solemn and silent vow, To be the one person you can’t understand. I’ll distance myself till I’m out of your sight, And leave you to walk in his version of light. I’ll let myself be eaten by sadness and pride, While I play the "bad guy" so they’ll trust you still. I’ll keep every secret locked deep inside, And bend my whole life to your narrative’s will. If they need a villain to make you the saint, I’ll be the dark shadow, the smudge, and the taint. I won't tell them about the karaoke nights, The songs that we screamed till our voices gave out. Beneath the neon and the cheap, colored lights, There wasn't a flicker of worry or doubt. The kisses and hugs that we shared in the dark, I’ll bury them deep, leaving no single mark. Because to the world, I’m just "someone you knew," A colleague, a friend, or a face in a file. They don't know the depth of my "I love you," Or the miles that I’d walk just to see you smile. It’s a "stupid heart" thing, to love from afar, While watching you follow a different star. So I’ll never talk to you, not for a day, For the rest of your life, I’ll be quiet and still. I’ll let the memory of "us" fade to gray, As I climb up this lonely and desolate hill. I’ll proceed to never think of it again, The "how" and the "why" and the "where" and the "when." Go on and tell them I was the one who was wrong, That I was the villain who ruined the peace. I’ll carry that burden, steady and strong, To grant your reputation a total release. For the greatest devotion is vanishing whole, To protect the light of your beautiful soul. I’ll ride my motorcycle into the rain, With the seat behind me empty and cold. I’ll trade all the joy for this quiet pain, And leave the true story forever untold. I love you forever, in my silent way, In the things that I’ll never again get to say.

78

My master’s degree's a senior’s cruise - most of the other students are thirty and even forty-somethings. Good for them, for making the (75K) investment, it’s hard, and they all look very serious. I am too, of course. It’s busy and constant - but it’s business analysis - it's not hard, like chemistry (see retrosynthetic analysis) and I’m lucky, I’m fresh off uni - used to working problem-sets and reading a couple of hundred pages a night. That said, last week was wearying. I look forward to Fridays (like everyone), as the light at the end of the tunnel. Then my Grandmère FaceTimed me asking if I could go through an ‘investor deck’ and give her advice. “Look at it and give it to me.. unsweetened,” she said (“Regarde-le et donne-le-moi... non sucré”). ‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘maybe I can tell van Gogh how to paint or Taylor Swift how to influence as well. Surely, asking someone to do something late on a Friday afternoon is a minute refinement of cruelty, but I couldn’t say 'no'. That didn’t mean I was happy - I’m very jealous of my time. It’s too easy to toss the sauce on my routines. I took an hour and looked it over, then gave her a poetic answer, “It’s an options fog, masquerading as opportunity.” “That’s what I thought,” she said. I know that old bird, she’s nuanced. Was that a test? There was a smile in her voice. Part of me longed to say, “Sometimes, like on a Friday night, one head’s better than two,” but I didn’t - because what night would be good for a surprise assignment? Two hours later, Chella and I had some students over for cocktails. Four of them (2 guys 2 girls) were Japanese. Their English wasn’t great, but we had fun. They brought a bottle of nihonshu (sake), that stuff is like water - seriously. So I made them martinis. Their eyes bugged out with their first sips, but first martini sips always taste like gasoline. It’s the second martini that starts to taste like mother’s-milk. Before long, they were smashed and then they started singing. That was when the real fun started. They had karaoke songs on their phones. We sang, we danced. They taught us some songs and we did the same. “At this point in our lives,” Chella said, “It’s important to bop so hard,” everyone cheered. What a slay - she was so real, so feral for that. . . Songs for this: Something Every Day (Little Wizard Mix) by Swing Out Sister Yoru ni kakeru by YOASOBI . . Our cast: Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale and currently a Harvard Master's candidate. She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things. Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate. Grandmère, my very French Grandmother. Tiny, frail looking and privately very funny - but don’t underestimate her or ever try and bull$hit her - she's a Mogul.

0

Jul 14, 2025

Jul 14, 2025 at 12:18 PM UTC

anaisvionet

nihonshu (sake)

My master’s degree's a senior’s cruise - most of the other students are thirty and even forty-somethings. Good for them, for making the (75K) investment, it’s hard, and they all look very serious. I am too, of course. It’s busy and constant - but it’s business analysis - it's not hard, like chemistry (see retrosynthetic analysis) and I’m lucky, I’m fresh off uni - used to working problem-sets and reading a couple of hundred pages a night. That said, last week was wearying. I look forward to Fridays (like everyone), as the light at the end of the tunnel. Then my Grandmère FaceTimed me asking if I could go through an ‘investor deck’ and give her advice. “Look at it and give it to me.. unsweetened,” she said (“Regarde-le et donne-le-moi... non sucré”). ‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘maybe I can tell van Gogh how to paint or Taylor Swift how to influence as well. Surely, asking someone to do something late on a Friday afternoon is a minute refinement of cruelty, but I couldn’t say 'no'. That didn’t mean I was happy - I’m very jealous of my time. It’s too easy to toss the sauce on my routines. I took an hour and looked it over, then gave her a poetic answer, “It’s an options fog, masquerading as opportunity.” “That’s what I thought,” she said. I know that old bird, she’s nuanced. Was that a test? There was a smile in her voice. Part of me longed to say, “Sometimes, like on a Friday night, one head’s better than two,” but I didn’t - because what night would be good for a surprise assignment? Two hours later, Chella and I had some students over for cocktails. Four of them (2 guys 2 girls) were Japanese. Their English wasn’t great, but we had fun. They brought a bottle of nihonshu (sake), that stuff is like water - seriously. So I made them martinis. Their eyes bugged out with their first sips, but first martini sips always taste like gasoline. It’s the second martini that starts to taste like mother’s-milk. Before long, they were smashed and then they started singing. That was when the real fun started. They had karaoke songs on their phones. We sang, we danced. They taught us some songs and we did the same. “At this point in our lives,” Chella said, “It’s important to bop so hard,” everyone cheered. What a slay - she was so real, so feral for that. . . Songs for this: Something Every Day (Little Wizard Mix) by Swing Out Sister Yoru ni kakeru by YOASOBI . . Our cast: Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale and currently a Harvard Master's candidate. She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things. Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate. Grandmère, my very French Grandmother. Tiny, frail looking and privately very funny - but don’t underestimate her or ever try and bull$hit her - she's a Mogul.

25

There once was from Okefenokee A bullfrog who sang karaoke: He sang with conviction And a crystal clear diction, But his tone was a little too croaky.

0

Mar 25, 2025

Mar 25, 2025 at 11:02 AM UTC

MetaVerse

Karaoke

There once was from Okefenokee A bullfrog who sang karaoke: He sang with conviction And a crystal clear diction, But his tone was a little too croaky.

5

This was last Saturday night. We were at a rooftop party in downtown New Haven thrown by ‘DocHouse.’ Doc-House is kind of a frat-house, owned by Dr. Melon, where he and seven doctoral students live. My BF Peter lived there once - before he graduated and took a job in Geneva - that’s how I met Dr. Melon. I think Peter asked Melon to ‘keep an eye’ on me - because he texts me an invitation every week and people with multiple doctorates and doctoral students don’t usually hang with lowly undergraduates. The invitation said ‘rooftop’ but we’re mostly on the third floor - not on the actual roof - because it’s about 39°f and windy out there tonight. The floor space was about seventy by a hundred feet, there were pillars but no walls. The space was lit by a million strings of white Christmas lights. The party was packed and loud - so loud I was wearing ear plugs. Beach chairs and card tables were the furniture. There were foosball, pool and two ping-pong tables (one of those being used for "Beer Pong"). A karaoke machine patched into two Marshall amps and speakers acted as a DJ. Of course, there was a bar. Everyone was supposed to bring something. We brought two bags of ice, two magnums of Gordon's gin, two fifths of Cinzano vermouth, a jar of large green olives and a box of toothpicks, because there’s always room for the proper anesthetic. Martinis aren’t a shiny, new hobby with me - they’re a lifelong passion that I only indulge in on weekends and in psychologically safe environments. There were 7 in our party - Sunny, Lisa, Leong (three of my suitemates), Lisa’s BF David (a Wall Street M&A man), Andy (a carrot-topped chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate friend of Sunny’s), Charles (our escort, and driver) and me. We’d been there about 30 minutes when Jordie, a guy I’ve been sort of crushing on for several months, showed up - alone. Lisa turned to me and yelled, “Uuu, lookie lookie,” when she saw him - I barely heard her - but I read her lips. I’d never really talked to Jordie, but when I looked at him, through the warm, martini mist, my tummy felt like Jello-excitement. As the night wore on, Jordie and I started hanging out. We lost at foosball, 8-ball and ping-pong before we went up on the roof to get some air. The silvery ½-moon crescent was obscured, off and on by clouds, like a shell game where the moon was a jewel on blue velvet. You could almost hear the operator’s smooth, practiced patter, “now you see it, now you don’t, place your bets.” It was quiet up there, so we actually talked. Somehow, the vast night seemed intimate. As we talked, the conversation was delicate and careful, like the words were made of crystal. A while later, Jordie and I were back downstairs dancing. The entire floor was coated with that gray-speckled covering - so you could dance anywhere - but a rectangle of police tape in that flooring defined the official ‘dance floor’. Two hours later, we were watching Sunny sing karaoke while holding a fuchsia martini (just add raspberry liqueur) in one hand. When Sunny goes, she totes commits and belting out an angry, screamo version of ‘Ain’t it fun’ by Paramore, she tried for a Beyonce-like head-spin (don’t try this at home), and slung half of her drink on the crowd - but it didn’t slow her, or them, down. After finishing, to huge applause, she took several bows and coming back to our table, she asked Andy, “How was I?” Andy held out his hand and lampooned her by waffling it, in a so-so gesture. As Lisa handed Sunny a replacement cocktail, she told Andy “You don’t get it - it’s supposed to be awful.” “Then it’s the best version of the song I’ve ever heard.” he replied, holding up his hands like she had a gun. Jodie and I danced some more and after a while, someone played a slow song. As we moved close together, his subtle, boy musk was torturous and intoxicating. How come guys smell better when they’re all sweaty and I smell like a horse? Eight weeks of lonely boredom and three martinis (4?) were almost enough to churn the sweat of desire into the intoxicating liquor of consent. In my secret heart I wanted him. Badly. I wanted to take him home and smash against him for hours. Alas, I have a (missing) boyfriend and I don’t believe in oopsies. At that very moment I saw Charles, standing silhouetted in one of the dance floor lights - he had our coats in hand. I swear, that man can read my mind. I glanced at my watch, 2:30am. I stopped close dancing with Jordie and stepped back. “I gotta go,” I told him. “It was fun,” he said, shrugging and smiling. “It WAS fun,” I agreed, taking my coat from Charles who’d come over. “(I’ll) See you next week,” I added, as everyone in our little caravan started to move.

0

Feb 21, 2024

Feb 21, 2024 at 1:47 PM UTC

anaisvionet

the 3rd floor

This was last Saturday night. We were at a rooftop party in downtown New Haven thrown by ‘DocHouse.’ Doc-House is kind of a frat-house, owned by Dr. Melon, where he and seven doctoral students live. My BF Peter lived there once - before he graduated and took a job in Geneva - that’s how I met Dr. Melon. I think Peter asked Melon to ‘keep an eye’ on me - because he texts me an invitation every week and people with multiple doctorates and doctoral students don’t usually hang with lowly undergraduates. The invitation said ‘rooftop’ but we’re mostly on the third floor - not on the actual roof - because it’s about 39°f and windy out there tonight. The floor space was about seventy by a hundred feet, there were pillars but no walls. The space was lit by a million strings of white Christmas lights. The party was packed and loud - so loud I was wearing ear plugs. Beach chairs and card tables were the furniture. There were foosball, pool and two ping-pong tables (one of those being used for "Beer Pong"). A karaoke machine patched into two Marshall amps and speakers acted as a DJ. Of course, there was a bar. Everyone was supposed to bring something. We brought two bags of ice, two magnums of Gordon's gin, two fifths of Cinzano vermouth, a jar of large green olives and a box of toothpicks, because there’s always room for the proper anesthetic. Martinis aren’t a shiny, new hobby with me - they’re a lifelong passion that I only indulge in on weekends and in psychologically safe environments. There were 7 in our party - Sunny, Lisa, Leong (three of my suitemates), Lisa’s BF David (a Wall Street M&A man), Andy (a carrot-topped chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate friend of Sunny’s), Charles (our escort, and driver) and me. We’d been there about 30 minutes when Jordie, a guy I’ve been sort of crushing on for several months, showed up - alone. Lisa turned to me and yelled, “Uuu, lookie lookie,” when she saw him - I barely heard her - but I read her lips. I’d never really talked to Jordie, but when I looked at him, through the warm, martini mist, my tummy felt like Jello-excitement. As the night wore on, Jordie and I started hanging out. We lost at foosball, 8-ball and ping-pong before we went up on the roof to get some air. The silvery ½-moon crescent was obscured, off and on by clouds, like a shell game where the moon was a jewel on blue velvet. You could almost hear the operator’s smooth, practiced patter, “now you see it, now you don’t, place your bets.” It was quiet up there, so we actually talked. Somehow, the vast night seemed intimate. As we talked, the conversation was delicate and careful, like the words were made of crystal. A while later, Jordie and I were back downstairs dancing. The entire floor was coated with that gray-speckled covering - so you could dance anywhere - but a rectangle of police tape in that flooring defined the official ‘dance floor’. Two hours later, we were watching Sunny sing karaoke while holding a fuchsia martini (just add raspberry liqueur) in one hand. When Sunny goes, she totes commits and belting out an angry, screamo version of ‘Ain’t it fun’ by Paramore, she tried for a Beyonce-like head-spin (don’t try this at home), and slung half of her drink on the crowd - but it didn’t slow her, or them, down. After finishing, to huge applause, she took several bows and coming back to our table, she asked Andy, “How was I?” Andy held out his hand and lampooned her by waffling it, in a so-so gesture. As Lisa handed Sunny a replacement cocktail, she told Andy “You don’t get it - it’s supposed to be awful.” “Then it’s the best version of the song I’ve ever heard.” he replied, holding up his hands like she had a gun. Jodie and I danced some more and after a while, someone played a slow song. As we moved close together, his subtle, boy musk was torturous and intoxicating. How come guys smell better when they’re all sweaty and I smell like a horse? Eight weeks of lonely boredom and three martinis (4?) were almost enough to churn the sweat of desire into the intoxicating liquor of consent. In my secret heart I wanted him. Badly. I wanted to take him home and smash against him for hours. Alas, I have a (missing) boyfriend and I don’t believe in oopsies. At that very moment I saw Charles, standing silhouetted in one of the dance floor lights - he had our coats in hand. I swear, that man can read my mind. I glanced at my watch, 2:30am. I stopped close dancing with Jordie and stepped back. “I gotta go,” I told him. “It was fun,” he said, shrugging and smiling. “It WAS fun,” I agreed, taking my coat from Charles who’d come over. “(I’ll) See you next week,” I added, as everyone in our little caravan started to move.

17

lying, deceitful liar panting live in the steamy mongrel of my slummy hive / marksman, deficient marksman rake out my mortar - the body laughter - criminal grime ; an absent partner / kissed ; what a frisky view - the sky seems so keen from here it's howling downhill fire i breathe so sweet to greet the menial hereafter - [manic laughter]

0

Feb 7, 2024

Feb 7, 2024 at 8:12 PM UTC

neth-jones

gibber-rash

lying, deceitful liar panting live in the steamy mongrel of my slummy hive / marksman, deficient marksman rake out my mortar - the body laughter - criminal grime ; an absent partner / kissed ; what a frisky view - the sky seems so keen from here it's howling downhill fire i breathe so sweet to greet the menial hereafter - [manic laughter]

5

Aghast in the AM as my friend from youth ago reminded me of what I know, and know I’d forgotten my impulse is to call all: ragtag and happy, still on the line them good girls gonna go bad hey Jonny? snug tired is enough for now

0

Sep 25, 2021

Sep 25, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC

drunkenkind

Ugh

Aghast in the AM as my friend from youth ago reminded me of what I know, and know I’d forgotten my impulse is to call all: ragtag and happy, still on the line them good girls gonna go bad hey Jonny? snug tired is enough for now

11

come out of your grief there's no crime in life ; this signature these beliefs you'll be sought out by the weave in your manner found you chasing a hollow banner show us all a snapshot of your soul there's no sleight of hand just your self divorce welcome to design chalk it up to our crude behaviour can't sanitize mother nature feed us all the habits of your soul wasted time entombed in your glamour clapping in delight camera chronicles out go the lights and out goes the kindness too so mad at the way you're treated so ugly as the pressure beats you down hand us over the very shame of your soul let us know your final decision sat flickering before your television grant us access to your broken soul address your face in the mirror ask it's advice like you are its wearer let us in the burrow of your soul fess up the officials have the room open wide and humanize your role we shall clock the degradation of your wilted soul

0

May 30, 2020

May 30, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC

neth-jones

karaoke hell #1 [to the tune of EverybodyWantsToRuleTheWorld by TearsForFears

come out of your grief there's no crime in life ; this signature these beliefs you'll be sought out by the weave in your manner found you chasing a hollow banner show us all a snapshot of your soul there's no sleight of hand just your self divorce welcome to design chalk it up to our crude behaviour can't sanitize mother nature feed us all the habits of your soul wasted time entombed in your glamour clapping in delight camera chronicles out go the lights and out goes the kindness too so mad at the way you're treated so ugly as the pressure beats you down hand us over the very shame of your soul let us know your final decision sat flickering before your television grant us access to your broken soul address your face in the mirror ask it's advice like you are its wearer let us in the burrow of your soul fess up the officials have the room open wide and humanize your role we shall clock the degradation of your wilted soul

47

It flutters like bees Imagine Brian from Silversun but you may sneeze Then off in the trees youll hear soft sounds Cold cold Martin's tunes playing like the trees A whisper That's no whisper its bono, as if he was in a chrisper Check it out no you'll never find another one like so so Swift it's almost like I'm lost A drift like That guy from straits He might have gotten older but he knocks Like me On a date The person I'm talking about? Why it's (my) karaoke! see? Don't hate!

0

Nov 12, 2019

Nov 12, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC

WriterFromADistance

A voice so unusual

It flutters like bees Imagine Brian from Silversun but you may sneeze Then off in the trees youll hear soft sounds Cold cold Martin's tunes playing like the trees A whisper That's no whisper its bono, as if he was in a chrisper Check it out no you'll never find another one like so so Swift it's almost like I'm lost A drift like That guy from straits He might have gotten older but he knocks Like me On a date The person I'm talking about? Why it's (my) karaoke! see? Don't hate!

16

Aki for Autumn, Haru for Spring. I hate karaoke, Because I can't sing.

0

Mar 2, 2019

Mar 2, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC

roppongidreams

karaoke w/ friends

Aki for Autumn, Haru for Spring. I hate karaoke, Because I can't sing.

4

when i reach you, i want it to look like the day i left. gray skies, teasing winds, the ocean roaring and rushing louder and faster than i've ever seen. on the boardwalk, i want to hear the musicians play, but i'll stand by one in particular--an old man playing an erhu to background music emitting from a cheap speaker, sounding like the karaoke songs my mom would always sing along to. i hated them then, but i'd give anything to have that back now. when i reach you, i want you to listen to me as i describe how i feel when i see a mother leading her toddling child by the hand while her husband looks for a place to sit on the beach. i won't be able to explain it, but i'll cry and try my best to express that it's love, it's always been love, it always will be love, and this family of strangers is ruining me and sustaining me and they'll never be the wiser. love is an action. love is an action. i want to love you. i want to love you. when i reach you, i want you to know i'm reaching for you, that this isn't just happenstance, or where everyone ought to go, but i did it for you. i took off all my clothes. i killed all my lovers. i did it to be close to you, but you feel so far away. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. you have to tell me to stop reaching.

0

Nov 22, 2017

Nov 22, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC

officialkroger

reaching

when i reach you, i want it to look like the day i left. gray skies, teasing winds, the ocean roaring and rushing louder and faster than i've ever seen. on the boardwalk, i want to hear the musicians play, but i'll stand by one in particular--an old man playing an erhu to background music emitting from a cheap speaker, sounding like the karaoke songs my mom would always sing along to. i hated them then, but i'd give anything to have that back now. when i reach you, i want you to listen to me as i describe how i feel when i see a mother leading her toddling child by the hand while her husband looks for a place to sit on the beach. i won't be able to explain it, but i'll cry and try my best to express that it's love, it's always been love, it always will be love, and this family of strangers is ruining me and sustaining me and they'll never be the wiser. love is an action. love is an action. i want to love you. i want to love you. when i reach you, i want you to know i'm reaching for you, that this isn't just happenstance, or where everyone ought to go, but i did it for you. i took off all my clothes. i killed all my lovers. i did it to be close to you, but you feel so far away. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. you have to tell me to stop reaching.

39

Let's do Karaoke and pretend we are on key Sing our hearts out loud Dance like no one is around Every lyric might be symbolic don't worry cause tonight we'll be alcoholic Let your emotion out and use a song to tell me what is it about Sing to me all your fears but don't drop a tear And just to be clear remember I am always here This night might never end just like our friendship that will not bend For we will sing together, Until we achieve our forever.

0

Aug 13, 2017

Aug 13, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC

maria11

Karaoke

Let's do Karaoke and pretend we are on key Sing our hearts out loud Dance like no one is around Every lyric might be symbolic don't worry cause tonight we'll be alcoholic Let your emotion out and use a song to tell me what is it about Sing to me all your fears but don't drop a tear And just to be clear remember I am always here This night might never end just like our friendship that will not bend For we will sing together, Until we achieve our forever.

16

We were at a gay bar for the first time. I was reminded of friendship, while she looked for love. I have a purse full of memories, and she looked at her empty hands in disappointment. I pointed to show her in them we made her story. By pushing the door that spoke to her, that she once ignored in a fear she couldn't accept. I thought of you and smiled in comfort. The women here are so respectful. And fun loving. Singing 90s songs. That is where her love may be. And mine is home with you. Because I've been thinking 'bout you ooh na na na I've been thinking 'bout you I shared her cigarette, and met a woman with a husband outside. She is a frequent there- I can't sing for **** But I heard some melodic voices. I don't know many good karaoke singers. I'd like to hear you up there. Do they have Morrissey? Lady called my name. Center stage. I'll think about you ooh na na na and sing away.

0

Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC

tntcl

HH

We were at a gay bar for the first time. I was reminded of friendship, while she looked for love. I have a purse full of memories, and she looked at her empty hands in disappointment. I pointed to show her in them we made her story. By pushing the door that spoke to her, that she once ignored in a fear she couldn't accept. I thought of you and smiled in comfort. The women here are so respectful. And fun loving. Singing 90s songs. That is where her love may be. And mine is home with you. Because I've been thinking 'bout you ooh na na na I've been thinking 'bout you I shared her cigarette, and met a woman with a husband outside. She is a frequent there- I can't sing for **** But I heard some melodic voices. I don't know many good karaoke singers. I'd like to hear you up there. Do they have Morrissey? Lady called my name. Center stage. I'll think about you ooh na na na and sing away.

32