#poser
Can I come a little bit closer?
Like this?
That's okay?
I know I'm such a poser.
Feeling more like a loser.
Is it alright if I say this?
Too much?
Too soon?
Can't believe I already miss
your company when I'm supposed to be in his
Arms, strong enough to hold me
but what if I need softness to be
the strength I'm holding on to; she
gives me something more to see
in darkened eyes great honesty
I'll keep your words with great pride
Show yourself to me, don't hide
Let me stay a bit longer by your side.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
My third day here at Hello Poetry
and I've encountered one already.
I know, I know … they're everywhere …
painfully, woefully steady.
Nine-hundred posts and more …
He parades around as a poet.
But to read his prose in the English language …
you'd swear that he doesn't even know it.
He says that I have everything wrong
and that “We know that God is right".
I've no idea about anything at all, he claims,
but it's this “We” who is starting the fight.
His "We" attacks my words, my themes
and even my beliefs.
Instead of offering help or praise,
"We" slings only grief.
I've seen his type all over the world …
a sad and cowardly sod.
Nothing more than a lonely Troll (read: bully)
trying to hide behind God.
When I tell him that I'm blocking him from my sector,
he doesn't behave like any Pastor …
Instead "His Holiness" sends an all-telling message ...
calling me a *******
He doesn't even know my parents.
Isn't that a hoot?
February 26th, 2018
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
I'm in love
With my "depression"
It makes me feel special
Makes me feel better
I'm so hungry
For your pity
Help me
Push me away
Into a hole and I'll sit there
Unable to climb out
A ladder next to me
A grin on my face
I wear a rope around my neck
Customised for optimal comfort
Decorated to my taste
I long to be entombed
I'm a human waste of space
And here's a word of advice:
To every one of you
Always be
The one with bigger scars
Always wear the tightest rope
Always be the one
In the chokiest car
The only one
To feel the gloom
Always be
The one to breath the fumes
The saddest person
In any room
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
There he is
the loudest guy in the bar
Boasting about clandestine OPS
and battles he’d ‘prefer not to remember’,
But he does,
because he has an audience
There he was in Ramadi, Korengal,
Tikrit, Kandahar, pinned down by dozens,
no hundreds, of enemy fighters.
His best mate, was hit by shrapnel or an enemy round.
He screams for Doc
But no help comes
The barroom hero
applies a compression bandage,
but the blood continues to flow through his fingers
Minutes pass, his buddy worsens.
Doc arrives, finally.
The buddy is stabilized and loaded onto a stretcher
He’ll be on the first bird out
The battle hardened warrior continues his tale,
regaling his table with airstrikes, CQB, and
taking the battle to the enemy.
Someone asks, “What unit were you in?”
He replies proudly, “The Second Ranger Battalion.”
You set your own beer down and spin from your chair.
You make your way from your table to his.
You place a silver coin upon it,
“Second Ranger Battalion,” you say,
“Coin Check.”
The color drains from his face
Fear in his eyes and an ‘Oh **** expression on his face,
He stammers something about being ‘attached’
and having orders for Ranger School once.
Your icy glare tells him that he’d better
**** and **** before he is no longer able to do either.
He throws a $20 onto the table and finds his way to the door.
******* ****
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
we used to be friends
best of friends actually
but when you let insecurities get you
you became a poser and broke my trust
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Burnt out like the **** of an old cigarette,
lipstick stained,
excitement drained,
nothing left but a ***** filter.
I'm seeing you for what you really are,
an addictive, silent killer.
You're romanticized by everyone,
except maybe yourself.
Oh, the coolest people have you
when they have nobody else.
Turns out, they're just victims
of a lifelong game of tag.
Still waiting for the moment
the chase ends and
they don't have to keep running back.
Like they're not supposed to have anything else to do,
almost like if they stopped,
they'd have no one
and you'd stop coming around
to build them up when they needed a kick,
giving them the smallest of highs.
You'd stop coming around and making them see
the world through your eyes.
Almost like it's so bad without you,
when really you're a pest-
gifted at knowing how to infest,
buzzing overhead no matter where they go,
inescapable like a dream.
Night after night,
whether they live alone or
with a family of six,
you keep up your tricks,
and the game's getting old.
Sometimes you gotta learn when to stop,
but it's repetition at its finest,
cancer stick to cancer stick until the
clock strikes twelve
and your gig is up.
Take your time,
they'll all see it soon.
Til then,
infect,
inject,
dissect their minds
don't let them be.
You're toxic as you are,
but not toxic to me.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Sliver of silver moonlight beams.
From the other side of the window gleams.
Shines so bright in this dark lit room.
But I cant get out of this awful gloom.
Heart aches and I feel it cracking.
But I cant think of reasons for it to be happening.
I hate myself and I'm so ******* sad.
I'm no good at anything and it makes me mad.
I cant make music, I'm an awful writer.
I have no degree so I'm impossible to hire.
I grew up never knowing what to do.
With no interests, talents, or will to give clue.
I'm stuck as an adult with what feels like no future.
I'm stuck in my head and I feel like a loser.
I don't know anything and I hate myself.
Wish there was a way to escape this hell.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
oh delicious jealousy,
it tastes sour and
black like plaque.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
Glorification,
Hidden behind vanity,
Fake self wannabe.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
I was down and in a bad place,
I called you and you had this annoyed face.
You were my best friend, you were my partner.
Then you made me feel like I was always a bother.
How does it feel to wear the clothes you do?
How does it feel now that I am now longer beside you?
Tell me, tell me.
You were my brother, you were my pal, you closed your door on me when I was in hell.
You could have thrown me some water to cool off the flames.
You could have opened your arms to me, instead you made me feel ashamed.
How does it feel now when you see me walking?
Do you hide and avoid saying 'hello'?
How does it feel to be way up on that diving board?
While I am still struggling just not to drown.
Tell me, tell me.
You once needed me and I was there.
You once was so lonely and I was one who cared.
I gave you my wife and I pushed you towards yours.
Now you stand there pretending, posing as if you are a man.
You can fool most people, maybe all of them.
But I know the real you and I know you are not what you pretend.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
To be a poser , to me means
you can't really think for yourself.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Please, Let me know When
You actually listen
To the band you wear.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
If I was a drinker, I’d be dry on the rocks;
if I was an addict, I’d be dead.
I’m not proud enough to call myself a writer
and I barely scrape by with the title “poet”.
It’s not all the same, except it kind of is,
and if it’s all the same to you,
I’d rather be a maniac, or pure **** with good definitions,
than another ignorant sack of **** with lazy reasoning
and a demeanor leaning towards believing
"I’m above it" really means you are truly above it.
If I was a gambler I’d go all in on my debt,
and wind up missing fingers and half my life
to say you truly believe in the things you say.
If I was a violent man, I’d start more fistfights,
and if I was more of an ******* I’d call you stupid.
However, I’m not the boxer taking the dive,
or the druggie nodding off on the transit,
or the gambler with his mortgage on a pair of jacks,
or the ******* that oppresses someone and plays the victim.
I’m not the writer that made it somewhere big enough
to ever be a has been, or a wash up. I’m a never-was.
To say this is a sad song implies it’s not comfortable.
I’m the *** of my own visions and dreams,
and all my streets and alleys are only seedy
because I wrote them that way.
At least I’m not pretending I’m above it,
while actively participating. Although, **** it,
I guess nobody can tell from a distance.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
So,
I see you're back from a little trip,
using daddy's AMEX out at Abby&Fitch.;
You're a slave to fashion and intolerable twit.
That blouse would look better
on a bag of ****
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
I wear glasses to see,
Not to look "cool."
I read books to feel intellectually challenged
And go on adventures to new lands,
Not to take pictures of the pages
On my Nikon camera
And get "notes" on Tumblr.
I drink tea to relax myself,
Not to be like everybody else.
Do all these things make me a hipster?
A poser?
Or myself?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC