#plus
When I was in seventh grade
Society told me
That curves can be beautiful
And I thought the idea of that
Was beautiful
Until I saw mine.
It was never
That I didn’t find beauty
In others bodies,
It was that I couldn’t
Find beauty
In what I saw
In the mirror
And I know that
Sometimes
It’s more of a -me- problem
Than a society problem,
But sometimes
When -curvy woman-
Means hips like rosebuds
And waist like fine china,
I get a little scared
Of myself.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 10:50 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
So they showed us the trees,
And told us to write.
Beauty and
overly-accurate descriptions
Expected.
Write about trees, they said,
But not about trees.
Write about roots,
And families,
And graves,
And anything you can stretch to
Relate to a tree.
But that's not my thing,
So I'm going to write about
Something else.
The people are staring at me.
Glaring, almost.
They don't want the teenager
On her phone.
Oh no, she should be
LISTENING.
They don't know
I'm writing poetry,
While they look for faults
In the tulip tree.
They nod their heads in agreement
To infections of the olive tree.
I'm on the ground,
So I look at their shoes.
You can tell a lot about a person
By the shoes they wear.
So they learn about trees,
While I learn about them.
I play Sherlock Holmes
And try to guess their
Personalities by their appearances,
Not really listening to the
Ranger man
Tell us about the
Growing process of a Ginkgo Tree
He talks about a Smerf,
And I absentmindedly ignore him
As I stare at the eyes
of my favorite type of tree.
I give him credit for trying,
Because while he doesn't have
My attention,
He appears to have everyone else's.
Soon, we gather around another tree.
He calls it 70 ft.
I call it big.
The sprinklers turn on,
And we laugh and move,
And we watch the squirrels
Play in the trees.
He makes a joke, and we laugh again.
It was a good time.
So I learned a lot today.
And while I came here
To learn about the trees,
I learned a whole lot more
About the people.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
i tried to see my muse
all i got was a past full of words
and a definite feeling that if
the blue alien ships
do not land on my head
the green ones will
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
I know that I can fall asleep in arms that aren't my own
but every time I wander off I end up in your throne
yet what's a king if folly be the only thing he seek
for I have heard the things he said when I was out of reach
his life commands a part of him I will not dare to claim
and all of it is more to him than I have ever been
my blood has boiled long enough for me to let the green
be something that was part of what I didn't want to be
so there he is and here I am - an almost circle's ring
I can't recall a single day remembering a thing
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
I think more clearly
than I have in
years.
I can now hold a thought
in between my
ears.
I'm just finding my
happiness; it feels
absurd.
But when I talk, I'm
spewing venom in my
words.
I'm sorry.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
**** you google plus.
I spent days deleting pictures of them off my phone.
Click update profile picture, and suddenly,
There's a beautiful girl standing at an ATM through a window covered in raindrops.
a little girl with smile wider han galaxies pulls the last jenga peice
Maybe I don't want to look at the three of us snuggled cozy smiling.
Maybe i don't want to see my old phones wallpaper.
That i changed to forget this happiness.
Maybe the hearth of that home burned ob these photographs.
On barbie doll soap opera ******
On match box car roller derbie.
On film strands ripped from the winding projectors of playground games and princess dresses and faces covered in cake.
**** you google plus.
you didn't even ask if I wanted to save those memories.
or at least when you did, I had a different answer.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
Life is something we all share, Just like oxygen, in the air. The way we live it, is up to us, With a negative or with a plus.
Life is something, we should cherish, We never know, when we'll perish. Live each and every single day, Smell the flowers, stop and play.
Life is something, we've been blessed, Choice is yours, choose your quest. Follow your passions, and you'll be fine, With the right attitude, you will shine.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
في الصباح فلافل و فول حسب الاصول ... و عند الغذاء فلافل و فول ايضا ... و وقت العشاء فلافل و فول حسب الطلب و حسب الاصول ... الفلافل مفيدة و كذلك الفول فكله الياف ..... صارت الحياة كلها بكلها فلافل زائد فول ... _______________________________________________________________
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
Whether we're positive or negative
opposites attract despite their irrelevance
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
her hands were ice
his hands were fire
when they connected
they canceled out
and there was no more
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
In shortening she made me jam roly poly
a Jezebel in a grand fully furnished way aglow
with bold basement statements broad brushed full on
to glaze the way to a plum job whole storey mission
proclaiming sofas as soft as any humble pin cushion
stuffed with unfinished symphonies in a mansion
booming out to empire builders' biggest guns
tended by harems of belly dancing bumble bees
burbling alongside a myriad of louder hues
flowing into bouffant hairstyle shrubs brushed
and blow dried into blooming privacy bushes
but outside she transformed
yet served by outsize platters
prolific with blazing seasonings
glazed with enough sweets
to satisfy a pudding feast
laid before a sumptuous appetite
comforting peahens with broad beans
ripened beside horizons of warm salads
dressed by blooming strawberries
pores plumped up from ladles
dunked deep as finger buns
into sloppy icing barrels
awash with hoarded nuts
of sweet toothed squirrels
engorged to dozing on branch barges
full to the gunnels and slow wallowing
in troughs laden with fatted chugs
rambling across rolling oceans awash
with tranquil rafts of whales nibbling
each morning on shoals expanding
beyond shallows into deep new ports
to offload uncontainable cargo
swung low on sweeping vista nets
dragging tree trunks packed like Jumbo
to land with a thump in wide sided carts
splashing and rocking slowly on their ways
until mopped up by richly saturated bales
of overgrown Danish butter grass pats
resplendent amidst dollops of luscious
double churned cream gateaux farm gates
open for cuddling golden syrup spoons of heat
spreading mellowness deep into the sponge
of unfolded meadows with encyclopedic knowledge
accumulated into increased volumes of decisive “belle”
resounding excitedly across the hills of plenty
chirrups bumping cheekiness into narrow valleys
to settle hawk eyes wide open to opportunities
accumulating it all in seam stretched sack boasts
of the good life storehoused bigger than most
but ready to collect and offload refreshment
like the slow but steady wobbling airships
stretched out resplendent across hay loft skies
fluffed up between a sweating Queen bed cumulus
keen to bounce into cloudless heady ensembles
swung high over thigh slapping oompah band hills
in a tug-of-war snapping heartstring restraint
and low frequency waves of contentment
she apportioned herself and me in generosity
celebrating a fully stocked love stacked larder
sweet with chock-a-block huffs and puffs
and then glad sighs of expansive success
in relief a schmooze diorama all she was after
Summer's glorious bamboozled ardour
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC