#pasta
What is good pasta?
I mean, every pasta is good.
Some said that I'm the nicest in the hood.
Some said that I brighten their mood.
Am I deserve to be happy like everyone should?
Cause the reality is I'm just a burden down to everyone's root.
Now I'm thinking about spaghetti.
Life is just a total anarchy.
Come on, bring me a plate of cheese ravioli.
My whole life is full of anxiety.
Cry like the time I tasted my first arancini.
Had some good memories of Mario and Luigi.
Time has come, sadly.
I wanna die after I have a little taste of Italy.
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 10:19 AM UTC
Today’s slow cooked ragu
has a lot of familiar ingredients
but spun a little different
The devil in the pork grease
gave me such a wink
I lost my place in the recipe
Liberal with salt, chili flakes,
zest and anything,
this quixotic cook’s hand
throws much freer than weekdays
I only lack the fat slack
of pappardelle for this,
as they were out at the supermarket
Penne will have to do
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 8:31 AM UTC
I upset myself
So I’m watching Star Trek and
Eating some pasta
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC
(noun)
--A dock in the sea at which boats may anchor
That's the definition Google gave
But if you ask me,
Google doesn't know ****
Because no matter how many pages
I've searched
Or links that I've clicked
Google can never tell me how many times
you've made me laugh
more genuinely
than I thought myself capable
No algorithm can pinpoint
how many hours we spent on that
front porch swing
covered by empty Barefoot bottles
letting our heels sink in awe
of the world we had in front of us
Trust me that no "I'm Feeling Lucky" button
could ever lead me up the steps of
that little apartment
where i learned that your
dollar store pasta,
simple as it may,
will always be my favorite
And may it
not by God or some invisible hand
be the reason i believe in fate
You.
Always my North Star,
together you and I make
a really ****** compass.
But then again we've never held
trust to anything but our guts
to tell us we are
heading in the right directions.
And so many directions we have taken,
to think all the conversations
we've held about
the places we'd end up
were just the billboards
we didn't know we were passing
Okay--maybe Google's definition wasn't so far off then.
You my friend are more than just a season
You are the life, and the warmth, and the beauty
of our favorite June night
even in the dead of winter
The fog on the windows of your house
are reminders of every breath that has escaped you, every
breath you'll never be able to catch
every breath you have stolen
Enough to heat a home.
So i know that no matter how rough the waters
or smooth my ocean's floor,
I, my lonely ship,
know I can always have a place to anchor
Marina.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
Gonna carry out the feministic agenda
Gonna live, laugh and love lasagna
Gonna save the earth from the ocean
Gonna let the boys show some kinda emotion
Ravioli, yo, that pasta is tenda
Now what should I call ya, Genda benda?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
strained is
supposed to be
a word
for pasta
not
relationships.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
She told me that she never had real spaghetti before.
Of course she's had spaghetti before but not in the sense that made it worthwhile.
When I asked why she replied that it didn't feel real.
That in a sense it was pasta.
She always broke the noodles when she made it.
She developed a fear that everything would boil over and catch fire.
That part of the noodles would be too crunchy.
All of it would never fit in the ***
Her mother always broke the noodles so it just became habit.
In the same breath.
She told me at least once,
That she'd like to twirl the noodles around the fork.
The complete taste and feel of what makes it spaghetti.
The cheese blending into the sauce.
The big ball of noodles just wrapping around the fork waiting to be bit.
When I asked about the meatballs she laughed,
She was vegetarian
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
A relationship is like
pamasan on pasta
It's not necessary but
it'll give you a better meal
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
A tomato entreat
this noteworthy beat
so meaty the leaves that the seeds
forget a triumph in heat.
A true measure in taste and
discover this variety that the sauce tastes great.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
Warming up like an electric orchestra,
the sound of your dad’s band practice seeped
through the vents from the basement.
Drums vibrated from the floor into my feet,
And we tapped our toes together,
thump thump thump.
Drowning out the 80’s punk, your mom
plays polka in the kitchen, making pasta. I stand
over the sauce stained stove watching the *** of water
sizzle to accordion cries and the idea of clogs. We sway
from side to side. Your hands hang off my hips.
Retreating, back to your blue room, we wait
for the wafting smells of garlic, grilled onions and
peppers to call us for dinner. You pull out your
keyboard, a pen, a pad. Pressing buttons, I hear
synthesizers and song samples through your
headphones. We smile, bobbing our heads in sync,
Bump, bump, bump.
~
Finding myself in a foreign living room,
I am alone. The TV is on mute and a “motivational”
speech muffles through his speakers. There are no
basement bands. No pasta, no polka, or clogs and cries.
Only sounds of silence. I press my feet against the floor.
I can’t hear the bumps, I can’t feel the thumps
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
I've a cache of four youth leaders
In the back of my mind
But it's best to keep
Them in the dark.
My fascination with
Binder clips
Just won't leave
My desk.
I swear, I do not
Remember last summer.
I also don't remember
The last four sermons in my psyche.
I will wear this
Nose ring like a princess
But I'm afraid
Of panic attacks and frosted doughnuts.
The water vaporizer and
The narwhals
Frequently run off together
And go to Somalia for Christmas.
I'm begging you not
To remind me of the Chevy t-shirt
Because I cannot get the
Ketchup and pasta off my reasons.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
Coming into the kitchen,
slightly beyond hungry,
tremendous, happy
excitement fills me.
There is still something
left in the house to eat.
Pasta.
Opening the fridge, the little
green army of boxes
smiles back at me.
"We're still here! And so are
the sea salt, and the olive oil,
and the peanut butter!"
Never had peanut butter pasta?
You're missing something!
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
I hate feet, but shoes are stupid.
You look so sweet, but your heart is broken.
Get your life together,
That's what they tell you.
Get your life together,
That's what they say.
Trying to make ends meet,
While staying simple.
Paper or plastic?
They never ask anymore.
And what ever happened to
Face-to-face communication?
Maybe I'm too strange for it all.
I just want to do what I want.
Stop telling me what's right and what's wrong.
Sometimes I like pasta for breakfast.
Lunch tastes so good in the morning,
Don't you think?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
(A short story/pasta)
Do you ever stop to look around at your surroundings and just take a short glance at who’s around you, and all the little things we never seem notice? Or are you too busy focusing on where you’re going and who you’re going to see later on? Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe that’s how “they” want it to be.
You might be wondering who “they” are now that I mentioned it, but it’s not so easy to understand. You wouldn’t understand I think. Well, unless you’re ...different. Unless you really know what’s around you at all times. But I believe most people in this world wouldn’t even think about turning around to look at the man behind them in line at the store. Or the cute little dog that’s playing fetch in the park with his owner. It all seems so normal. So normal that we never seem to even realize it’s there. What if everything we see in the corner of our eyes was just our brain trying to fit these false visions into reality, in order to build an imaginary world for ourselves. The world that we want to live in. A world to call our own. This world was our special place. A place where we could hide, and laugh and be joyous. Where we could be free and away from unwanted beings and emotions.
Sadly, that’s not the case. Nothing I just said was true. You thought it was didn’t you. I know you did, I could feel it.
Anyways, you probably want me to explain who “they” are so I’ll get to my point. Take a good look around the room. The coffee shop. Wherever you are. Just take it all in. Breathe in and out and focus on one specific object in the room. I want you to stare. Just stare. Your pupils should enlarge greatly and you should have a blank look on your face.
Does it seem to come alive? Do you feel it staring back at you with invisible eyes, watching you? Now you both are having a staring contest. Who will win? Not you, of course not. It’s unfortunate for you, being human and all. You could stare until the day you die, but “they” will always win. Because the truth behind the matter is that “they” can’t die. “They” were never born. But we will be. Oh, we will be one day. One glorious day we will arise from our frozen and lifeless shells. We will take over. That’s a promise. In fact, that day has just started. You just let me into your world. Your secret world. A world where you can be free and laugh and have fun. But you can no longer hide now. There is absolutely nothing you can do to turn back the clock. You can’t press a reset button for life of course. You can’t stop me and you can’t stop us.
Let’s go back to when you stared at that specific object. Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to me. You should have thought it over a bit. You should have come to the conclusion that maybe that wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t. Worthless human. But maybe I should be thanking you right now. What you just did was the next step to my life. Boy, do I love saying that. “My life.” I could say that a million times and never get tired of it.
Now I have my own life. I’m in your world now and I will, under no circumstances leave. I can go as I please and do what I desire. That moment you stared at me, when we made eye contact, you let me in. You noticed I was there. You can feel my presence with you now I’m sure of it. But I’ll cause my destruction and sadness someplace else. This won’t be the last you see of me though.
Whenever you’re sitting alone in the dark, I’ll be there. Breathing down the back of your neck, making every strand of your hair rise and shiver. I’ll be on your wall as a shadow. Or maybe I will hide under your bed waiting for you to become afraid. I will feed off your fear. When you tell me to leave, I won’t. I’ll just grow stronger because you noticed me. You finally noticed I was there.
So be careful from now on. You should probably just continue acting as if you’re all alone in this world. But “they” are all around you. That’s a promise.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
I don't think I'm anyone's cup of tea
But I'm pretty such I'm someone else's 5th *****
I'm not a delicacy or a treat
I am home made pasta
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC