#organized - Hello Poetry

5:30, 4:30 - Up ever earlier. 40, 50, 60 Pages of the encyclopedia open. All with tabs, Of the many windows, pages, & folders. Through the looking glass, Roaming far & near as an extraterrestrial.

0

Nov 18, 2024

Nov 18, 2024 at 7:36 AM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

An Alien To Culture

5:30, 4:30 - Up ever earlier. 40, 50, 60 Pages of the encyclopedia open. All with tabs, Of the many windows, pages, & folders. Through the looking glass, Roaming far & near as an extraterrestrial.

8

The future is ahead and the past is behind. It's important it stays that way So our minds can stay organized.

0

Dec 27, 2020

Dec 27, 2020 at 7:03 PM UTC

zackripley

Organized mind

The future is ahead and the past is behind. It's important it stays that way So our minds can stay organized.

4

sweaty forehead, a gory past wildly glowing eyes of oblivion shivering hands, sirens, bars freedom, imprisonment, razor blades peru, coca farmers, chemicals smuggler channels, route 36 franklin's face on crumpled-up paper rattling coins, benjamins, stacks gotta make it or take it gotta sell or abuse it flashing louis, abundant future sweaty forehead, ****** present biker chapters, brothers, funerals tommy hauled jim's coffin rick carried tommy to his grave cut-offs, gats, one call: ****** despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta mortals remain silent, angels don't rain of blood, a puddle of codes turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs cults **** cultures, weapons replace shelter in a group home; the stabbing "shaun got heart, he a furious one -- can use dat dude, pay him up" black, white, african-american, chechens territories of unspoken laws intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters lured teenagers, deadly magic of power the old ones impress the new ones newbies will turn into soldiers **** or get killed; headshots of fear numbers on the forehead, blueish unwritten are the rules of some bribed politicians, skippers, knockos the one who wets, will be wetted others prefer the clarity of faith organized crime, rats and kingpins multilevel marketing, elevators glass towers, late and secret meetings route 36, the white magic of death it's all in the game "The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life. Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself. Relax." (Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")

0

Dec 26, 2020

Dec 26, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC

maxneumann

Organized Crime

sweaty forehead, a gory past wildly glowing eyes of oblivion shivering hands, sirens, bars freedom, imprisonment, razor blades peru, coca farmers, chemicals smuggler channels, route 36 franklin's face on crumpled-up paper rattling coins, benjamins, stacks gotta make it or take it gotta sell or abuse it flashing louis, abundant future sweaty forehead, ****** present biker chapters, brothers, funerals tommy hauled jim's coffin rick carried tommy to his grave cut-offs, gats, one call: ****** despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta mortals remain silent, angels don't rain of blood, a puddle of codes turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs cults **** cultures, weapons replace shelter in a group home; the stabbing "shaun got heart, he a furious one -- can use dat dude, pay him up" black, white, african-american, chechens territories of unspoken laws intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters lured teenagers, deadly magic of power the old ones impress the new ones newbies will turn into soldiers **** or get killed; headshots of fear numbers on the forehead, blueish unwritten are the rules of some bribed politicians, skippers, knockos the one who wets, will be wetted others prefer the clarity of faith organized crime, rats and kingpins multilevel marketing, elevators glass towers, late and secret meetings route 36, the white magic of death it's all in the game "The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life. Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself. Relax." (Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")

45

Bolts go with screwdrivers Wrenches install nails and life keeps going. Sadness goes with anger Empty thoughts will never fill and life keeps going.

0

Nov 19, 2020

Nov 19, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC

littledipper

Toolbox

Bolts go with screwdrivers Wrenches install nails and life keeps going. Sadness goes with anger Empty thoughts will never fill and life keeps going.

6

Knowing I'll be feeling hopeless and could use the direction the distraction. What is the use? I need to feel like I am being significant But I am significant But why bother? there is no deadline there is no action. i find that time runs slow in the morning eight skips later then it's 8 pm three nights in a row but what is happening? Where is my will my willingness to REALLY live? Everything is always the same same thoughts same drive but a drive to nowhere but dreams on broken foundations monotonous. I have to push myself, I know I must. to be able to OPEN my eyes and SEE because all I see is fog. I am aware? I do not feel aware. i am trapped in a misty humid fog, waving my arms gasping. trying to breathe dying to breathe i cannot breathe. I want to experience life in all its glories And I would have Or do I just think I would have? if circumstances weren't so hilariously unfunny Why? why do i get the thing i have wanted most, At the cost of another? I don't even get a say in the decision-making, I am merely just the puppet in this simulation Playing out the scenes after the act. Why? That's because the forces of the universe have a sense of humor. I very dislike change, and so it finds me a perfect match. But others who wish they can leave their hometowns, have to stay stagnant until adulthood. Where is my right to a less stressful childhood? Why. why am i being forced to grow up? Being forced to mature or else i cannot keep up being organized is the only thing that keeps me sane It is the only thing that I have control over One of the only things I have control over. I am the physical manifestation of anxiety Screaming to be heard to be n o t i c e d to be mistaken for art It was a way of rebellion in a circumstance where i was forced to mature quick robbed of non-persistent non-insistent thoughts So i hope fate is happy now. For through the course you have run, you have molded this puppet, exactly how you have planned. you can check me off your list

0

Jul 22, 2020

Jul 22, 2020 at 7:42 AM UTC

squishy-banana

Making to-do Lists at 11 pm

Knowing I'll be feeling hopeless and could use the direction the distraction. What is the use? I need to feel like I am being significant But I am significant But why bother? there is no deadline there is no action. i find that time runs slow in the morning eight skips later then it's 8 pm three nights in a row but what is happening? Where is my will my willingness to REALLY live? Everything is always the same same thoughts same drive but a drive to nowhere but dreams on broken foundations monotonous. I have to push myself, I know I must. to be able to OPEN my eyes and SEE because all I see is fog. I am aware? I do not feel aware. i am trapped in a misty humid fog, waving my arms gasping. trying to breathe dying to breathe i cannot breathe. I want to experience life in all its glories And I would have Or do I just think I would have? if circumstances weren't so hilariously unfunny Why? why do i get the thing i have wanted most, At the cost of another? I don't even get a say in the decision-making, I am merely just the puppet in this simulation Playing out the scenes after the act. Why? That's because the forces of the universe have a sense of humor. I very dislike change, and so it finds me a perfect match. But others who wish they can leave their hometowns, have to stay stagnant until adulthood. Where is my right to a less stressful childhood? Why. why am i being forced to grow up? Being forced to mature or else i cannot keep up being organized is the only thing that keeps me sane It is the only thing that I have control over One of the only things I have control over. I am the physical manifestation of anxiety Screaming to be heard to be n o t i c e d to be mistaken for art It was a way of rebellion in a circumstance where i was forced to mature quick robbed of non-persistent non-insistent thoughts So i hope fate is happy now. For through the course you have run, you have molded this puppet, exactly how you have planned. you can check me off your list

65

nowadays i keep the light on my desk organized my bed made my floor clean i see world through a different lens summers have the sun up even the fog see through in the winter i changed my way of living in december

0

Nov 24, 2019

Nov 24, 2019 at 10:57 AM UTC

gnossos

december, where all the changes happen

nowadays i keep the light on my desk organized my bed made my floor clean i see world through a different lens summers have the sun up even the fog see through in the winter i changed my way of living in december

10

“keep your dementia well organized” it spreads to the outward edges like camera film alit, burning inside outward, fast and quick, the mutterings dispersed in voices precisely loud enough to not be distinctly heard, but perfect for your active concerning consternation you summon different voices for every occasion cause you keep your dementia tools well organized order is the successful methodology for maintaining what otherwise appears and truly is, irrational rantings, nuggets of chicken, you’re too chicken to loudly scream, lest someone solves the riddles you are raving it’s insane to keep your crazy so well managed, it’s sane to keep your crazy so well managed, it’s crazy to stay sane, when your demented nature, is dewy decimal handy for steady decimation you laugh while writing this, recognizing a well organized personality disordered, is the key to success at anything you do, like being crazy cool you, still crazy after all these years, do not lack for historical perspective oops! typo, hysterical perspective, old tricks for new doctors, renewable energy never fails to confuse and amuse, hard work keeping yourself entertained at the medical professions expense which is why I keep my dementia well organized

0

Mar 12, 2019

Mar 12, 2019 at 9:59 AM UTC

stillcrazyafteralltheseye

keep your dementia well organized

“keep your dementia well organized” it spreads to the outward edges like camera film alit, burning inside outward, fast and quick, the mutterings dispersed in voices precisely loud enough to not be distinctly heard, but perfect for your active concerning consternation you summon different voices for every occasion cause you keep your dementia tools well organized order is the successful methodology for maintaining what otherwise appears and truly is, irrational rantings, nuggets of chicken, you’re too chicken to loudly scream, lest someone solves the riddles you are raving it’s insane to keep your crazy so well managed, it’s sane to keep your crazy so well managed, it’s crazy to stay sane, when your demented nature, is dewy decimal handy for steady decimation you laugh while writing this, recognizing a well organized personality disordered, is the key to success at anything you do, like being crazy cool you, still crazy after all these years, do not lack for historical perspective oops! typo, hysterical perspective, old tricks for new doctors, renewable energy never fails to confuse and amuse, hard work keeping yourself entertained at the medical professions expense which is why I keep my dementia well organized

29

I think I'm always stressed out Because my mind is always a mess I must have OCD for my thoughts It makes me u n c o m F o r T a b l E So I make lists of what must be done What I want to do, what I'm going to do And many more lists To organize my thoughts, just a little bit

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Feb 19, 2019

Feb 19, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC

Pyrrha

OCD

I think I'm always stressed out Because my mind is always a mess I must have OCD for my thoughts It makes me u n c o m F o r T a b l E So I make lists of what must be done What I want to do, what I'm going to do And many more lists To organize my thoughts, just a little bit

18

I have retired, long ago, from my duties my wonderful job That has made me millions. You best think twice before you speak arrogantly of me. Know, when you undermine me Next to others among, That I have made millions. I’ve fed mouths Raised beautiful souls, Scrubbed till my skin cracked, Squatted till my bones ached, Cooked art till my heart was content but, I have no right to complain I never look back on my life with shame, because I have made millions. I arose at the glint of the sunrise Filled my ears with the bellowing Of vendors and their creaking carts Sacrificed my sleep To sustain my job because my efforts are worth millions. I was dedicated, Worked hard for my family, my tendrils of hair askew I continued my work Masked my emotions, Even when I was feeling blue all because I was too busy making millions. I kept my “office” ***** and span Invented my own tips and tricks since I was passionate about making millions. I wonder if you think I am worthless but I simply sit back and smile because I tell myself I was a queen in my line of work I didn’t just make beds, I made wonderful souls It never required money I never had to get paid Now, The thin wrinkles on my hand Remind me that I am more than satisfied, Because I know I’ve made millions.

0

Dec 16, 2018

Dec 16, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC

halfmoonprxnce

Homemaker

I have retired, long ago, from my duties my wonderful job That has made me millions. You best think twice before you speak arrogantly of me. Know, when you undermine me Next to others among, That I have made millions. I’ve fed mouths Raised beautiful souls, Scrubbed till my skin cracked, Squatted till my bones ached, Cooked art till my heart was content but, I have no right to complain I never look back on my life with shame, because I have made millions. I arose at the glint of the sunrise Filled my ears with the bellowing Of vendors and their creaking carts Sacrificed my sleep To sustain my job because my efforts are worth millions. I was dedicated, Worked hard for my family, my tendrils of hair askew I continued my work Masked my emotions, Even when I was feeling blue all because I was too busy making millions. I kept my “office” ***** and span Invented my own tips and tricks since I was passionate about making millions. I wonder if you think I am worthless but I simply sit back and smile because I tell myself I was a queen in my line of work I didn’t just make beds, I made wonderful souls It never required money I never had to get paid Now, The thin wrinkles on my hand Remind me that I am more than satisfied, Because I know I’ve made millions.

48

I should probably eat better And quit smoking soon Money ends up with the debtor And stocks pop like balloons I know that I should know better But what do you know? Claiming to "know THE creator"? What an absurd notion... I really should exercise more Spend less time online At least I'm not so immature To pretend I know what's Divine.

0

Apr 30, 2018

Apr 30, 2018 at 12:05 AM UTC

LeV3e

What do you Know?

I should probably eat better And quit smoking soon Money ends up with the debtor And stocks pop like balloons I know that I should know better But what do you know? Claiming to "know THE creator"? What an absurd notion... I really should exercise more Spend less time online At least I'm not so immature To pretend I know what's Divine.

12

Can I show you how beautiful you are? Can I take out the old photo albums and push my index finger into the faces, the places, and seas? I want to peel back the plastic and remove the square photographs from their sticky setting. I'm alluding to ideas that exist more formidably on the internet- there are no paper photographs, no sticky settings, there aren't even faces in the numbers; it's only ever been you or me. Some of my things are crooked. The strings don't work, the wires are twisted and make the sounds all come out funny. There's a strange buzzing everywhere, it's like Mickey's gray cloud, a cloud Koopa throwing spiked shells from Park Avenue beach to Montrose street. Everything is quiet, consuming, unassuming and still recalcitrant. I'm showing nothing to nobody. Coaxing storm systems and netting foul play and ***** tricks, with my pants around my ankles or my fly unzipped. I'm stinking of this stuff. These sudorific crevices on the insides of my thighs. I'm more or less always pacing. Rocking. Rolling. Small room I'm living room, cadavers I stuff my skinny fingers inside of- cold, wet hollow places I'm seeking skin covered gods in. I'm craving tastes and flavors. I'm looking at these pictures of me, of my face and the clothes I wore, the people that knew me. Where have I disappeared to? Every place that I went, every condition of my humanness has gone. Five minutes past my certainty, squirting hot molten magma from my **** my lips, and my fingertips. Hysterical thoughts and homily. I want just a hello. I want just a hello.

0

Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC

martin-narrod

hello.

Can I show you how beautiful you are? Can I take out the old photo albums and push my index finger into the faces, the places, and seas? I want to peel back the plastic and remove the square photographs from their sticky setting. I'm alluding to ideas that exist more formidably on the internet- there are no paper photographs, no sticky settings, there aren't even faces in the numbers; it's only ever been you or me. Some of my things are crooked. The strings don't work, the wires are twisted and make the sounds all come out funny. There's a strange buzzing everywhere, it's like Mickey's gray cloud, a cloud Koopa throwing spiked shells from Park Avenue beach to Montrose street. Everything is quiet, consuming, unassuming and still recalcitrant. I'm showing nothing to nobody. Coaxing storm systems and netting foul play and ***** tricks, with my pants around my ankles or my fly unzipped. I'm stinking of this stuff. These sudorific crevices on the insides of my thighs. I'm more or less always pacing. Rocking. Rolling. Small room I'm living room, cadavers I stuff my skinny fingers inside of- cold, wet hollow places I'm seeking skin covered gods in. I'm craving tastes and flavors. I'm looking at these pictures of me, of my face and the clothes I wore, the people that knew me. Where have I disappeared to? Every place that I went, every condition of my humanness has gone. Five minutes past my certainty, squirting hot molten magma from my **** my lips, and my fingertips. Hysterical thoughts and homily. I want just a hello. I want just a hello.

3