Hello Poetry
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#server
Hello my favorite poets At this hour so late I'm dreamin of our moments On the server, so great When they cracked a joke And she laughed for hours When he needed some strength And we channeled our power When he played guitar When she wrote a song If they rapped for hours We all sang along All here, you know? Wrapped in our server Please don't fade away Don't be an observer We're stuck here in time Reading messages alone Always online It's become our home So change you hair And buy new clothes Write a story And a lyric that flows Mock the world Crochet a plant Laugh at the jokes And read all the rants Get a boyfriend Spill the tea Completely get lost Be you, and be free Talk to family, Talk to friends Call for hours And mock all the trends Maybe stay muted Keep the picture closed Feel free to hide your face Don't do what your supposed Cuss out the haters Binge watch your shows Spam the main server The chat's never closed Join the army Graduate to university Maybe start highschool We're all on separate journeys The flights always long The drive even harder We're oceans apart Maybe even farther Thousands of miles A complete world away My moon is your sun And your night is my day So I know you won't read this But in case you do Write another poem We're all here for you
0
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 9:51 PM UTC
I Miss You
Hello, HePo. Your website has many flaws, Don't we all. If you need tech support I am happy to help On the house Because we love your house It is also our home
0
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 12:07 PM UTC
HelloWorld! - A message to the Website Admin
It’s a cut of prime rib, that I slice to your size specifications, served with a heaping side of horseradish. I hate this ******* clip on bow tie they make us wear. La Cave. Underground niche joint, where all the cocktail waitresses and servers wear ******* clip on bow ties. We specialize in meats and baked potatoes with endless amounts of butter, sour cream and ******* chives. And don’t worry honey, I’ll be sure to bring you a whole plate full of baked potato sides. Quantity is very important in La Cave. The quantity of your tip depends upon it darling. Sultry, red misted desperate dwelling of men who dampen even the highest of spirits. Where is my pronged fork for this huge slab of insultingly low grade prime rib? It comes with all the sides you could ever want. No questions asked. And that **** little honey of a gal, that waitress right over there will cut you off a slab as thick and as cheap as you want it. Happy Hour can **** it.
0
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 3:00 PM UTC
Wait
I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried burdens—quiet, unseen. While others walked down marble aisles, I walked through fire, clothed in routine. I wore no robe of woven white, No candle's glow to guide my feet, Yet still I stood beneath the light, And bore the ache of each heartbeat. They saw the servers—neat in line, With steady steps and lifted grace, But who could see the heavy spine? That bowed beneath a silent place? I didn’t lift that wooden sign, Emblem of salvation’s cost— But oh, I’ve held a thousand cries, And mourned the things that I have lost. I watched the pews with hollow eyes, As hymns rose like drifting prayer, And wondered if my quiet sighs. We have never heard or met with care. I didn’t carry the cross of gold, But I bore words unkind, untrue— The ones that pierced, the ones that rolled Like thunder breaking something new. I bore the doubt, the questioning stares, The judgments whispered after Mass, The moments no one truly dares To ask, "Are you okay, alas?" They carried candles, and I had pain. They lifted praise, and I bit my tongue. While incense rose like gentle rain, My grief within me always clung. I bore the weight of being there, While feeling lost, misunderstood— Still showing up, offering care, Still doing more than I thought I could. I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried silence, carried shame. Carried hopes now cracked and glossed, And bore the absence of a name. And yet—I stayed. Through all the cost. Through unseen tears and faith grown thin. I bore the burden, never tossed, And found a small light somewhere within. So let them hold the cross with pride, While choirs sing and bells arise. I walk the aisles with none beside— Still serving through these unseen cries. For though I may not bear the wood, Or walk in robes of sacred thread, I carry love the way I should, And lift the souls the world has shed. I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried burdens, day and night— And in that pain, I found the gloss. Of grace, of grit, of hidden light. "I didn't carry the processional cross, but I carried burdens."
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Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
"Cross Bearer Inside"
I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried burdens—quiet, unseen. While others walked down marble aisles, I walked through fire, clothed in routine. I wore no robe of woven white, No candle's glow to guide my feet, Yet still I stood beneath the light, And bore the ache of each heartbeat. They saw the servers—neat in line, With steady steps and lifted grace, But who could see the heavy spine? That bowed beneath a silent place? I didn’t lift that wooden sign, Emblem of salvation’s cost— But oh, I’ve held a thousand cries, And mourned the things that I have lost. I watched the pews with hollow eyes, As hymns rose like drifting prayer, And wondered if my quiet sighs. We have never heard or met with care. I didn’t carry the cross of gold, But I bore words unkind, untrue— The ones that pierced, the ones that rolled Like thunder breaking something new. I bore the doubt, the questioning stares, The judgments whispered after Mass, The moments no one truly dares To ask, "Are you okay, alas?" They carried candles, and I had pain. They lifted praise, and I bit my tongue. While incense rose like gentle rain, My grief within me always clung. I bore the weight of being there, While feeling lost, misunderstood— Still showing up, offering care, Still doing more than I thought I could. I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried silence, carried shame. Carried hopes now cracked and glossed, And bore the absence of a name. And yet—I stayed. Through all the cost. Through unseen tears and faith grown thin. I bore the burden, never tossed, And found a small light somewhere within. So let them hold the cross with pride, While choirs sing and bells arise. I walk the aisles with none beside— Still serving through these unseen cries. For though I may not bear the wood, Or walk in robes of sacred thread, I carry love the way I should, And lift the souls the world has shed. I didn’t carry the processional cross, But I carried burdens, day and night— And in that pain, I found the gloss. Of grace, of grit, of hidden light. "I didn't carry the processional cross, but I carried burdens."
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57
I got this job because I was seventeen Available everyday at three In debt with a man after I went clean My boss at the time was thirty six with a goatee Five dollars an hour plus tip, you see It was fine for me. I met the others standing by the kitchen line All of them with the same look in their eye Lying to family and friends saying, financially, their fine Getting nothing on a tip and never knowing why Yet they return the next day to serve white wine Looking around I see all of us wanted more But I’m in debt and you have to pay the rent Do it all in one day and go home to a son that’s four Under the thumb of an old vice president The roof over the kitchen is about to cave in And we watch with silent eyes Because our uniforms are being held with safety pins Promised new ones but Corporate lies And when the bubble in the ceiling pops We’ll be by the dumpsters flicking cigarettes on the road While the greedy pigs come in drawing lots Waiting for the gas stove to explode Paid vacation sounds lovely Been here every week for the past year Sometimes I’m called to come in early Pick up the broken glass from lunch rush beer The people come in Angry as they usually are Now the glares don’t even touch my skin It makes me laugh how many nasty people sit at the bar The high-class families who come in for din It’s been eight hours and six years Since we started our shift Staying here for three more is the biggest fear But we’re already ****** We’ve been here for long we know this career What else am I supposed to know Other than how to make dough It’s been a long night You can see it in the height Of cigarette buts by the dumpster Where we can freely talk about the customer It’s a busy life Feels like we’re running out of time To get out and ignore the strife But there are times when the tips make us feel sublime And we can buy a warm meal Cause maybe it will heal These aching muscles That come from a constant hustle Don’t you see why they say At the end of the day We need an ashtray.
0
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
Day In The Life Of A Waitress
I got this job because I was seventeen Available everyday at three In debt with a man after I went clean My boss at the time was thirty six with a goatee Five dollars an hour plus tip, you see It was fine for me. I met the others standing by the kitchen line All of them with the same look in their eye Lying to family and friends saying, financially, their fine Getting nothing on a tip and never knowing why Yet they return the next day to serve white wine Looking around I see all of us wanted more But I’m in debt and you have to pay the rent Do it all in one day and go home to a son that’s four Under the thumb of an old vice president The roof over the kitchen is about to cave in And we watch with silent eyes Because our uniforms are being held with safety pins Promised new ones but Corporate lies And when the bubble in the ceiling pops We’ll be by the dumpsters flicking cigarettes on the road While the greedy pigs come in drawing lots Waiting for the gas stove to explode Paid vacation sounds lovely Been here every week for the past year Sometimes I’m called to come in early Pick up the broken glass from lunch rush beer The people come in Angry as they usually are Now the glares don’t even touch my skin It makes me laugh how many nasty people sit at the bar The high-class families who come in for din It’s been eight hours and six years Since we started our shift Staying here for three more is the biggest fear But we’re already ****** We’ve been here for long we know this career What else am I supposed to know Other than how to make dough It’s been a long night You can see it in the height Of cigarette buts by the dumpster Where we can freely talk about the customer It’s a busy life Feels like we’re running out of time To get out and ignore the strife But there are times when the tips make us feel sublime And we can buy a warm meal Cause maybe it will heal These aching muscles That come from a constant hustle Don’t you see why they say At the end of the day We need an ashtray.
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54
I guess mushroom swiss burgers are supposed to have mushrooms. THEY ARE NOT supposed to have lettuce, tomato, or pickle. ONLY mushroom and swiss. The angry and life deprived woman I was looking down at sternly informed me. Her burger was rapidly fixed. The friendly, quiet, and easy table to the left tipped me eight dollars for my troubles. There are some good people. It all comes out in the wash.
0
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
Lack of Mushrooms
It was pouring cats and dogs, I saw her drenched to the skin, She ran to the canopy where I stood, Her wet look,see through blouse, and hunched shoulders, Made A Sound in my heart, Thud, thud, thud................... I offered her my coat. The next sunny day I saw her at the bus stop, "Hi, remember me from yesterday." " Sorry pal it was dark, I don't recall you. Your FILE NOT FOUND!" I insisted,"Don't let my heart's 'Server Down." Your smile, your style,your grace I have clicked SAVE in one FILE. Please be my life's Animated GIF. She:"I am involved with someone, I have no more 'Disk Space' in my heart's storage for you. Please 'Ctrl+alt+delete' me from your life."
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Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Ctrl+alt+delete
Minute by minute hour by hour the angry swells so heavy I'm about to pass out and i want to never wake up. Lost and confused trying to find myself again So I pick up a pen and spill the ink Black is what I see and what I bleed Joy is a mystery that I can't seem to grasp losing hope and faith is it you or is it me? Was this even meant to be? You stole my identity and said you were my friend. Ripped out of my arms, whispering goodbye. And the hole widens with anger and spite. Why doesn't this feel right? This was suppose to be my chance, my dream! To show the world that I am enough, that I'm real and I feel! This depression and stress, I want it to rest. I need it to rest. Why do i keep feeling like I'm not enough? Is it you or is it me? God, can you hear me scream? I don't know what to do, I'm dazed and confused. Chasing the dragon in the bathroom at work, my only source of peace, my fake fidelity. Sticking needles in places scars used to be. Once healed, now marking its territory. Again and again, how longer will I bend, How longer will I need to prove myself? How much longer will I come second place? Where is your faith and why do I seek your approval? I keep blaming you, but is it me?
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Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
Always 2nd place.
"Hello, how are you?" I say in a voice I can't believe is mine. I hate it so much. It's become like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. I ask the human in front of me, "What can I get you today?" They ignore me. Finally someone approaches. It's an older lady, gray bushy hair with wild eyes. I smile and begin to take her order. She begins to make rude remarks towards me. She leaves, someone else approaches. It's a man angry about a price I did not set. He takes it out on me. I take all of the verbal punches. From people who have had their worst days, to people who are just too privileged to give a little kindness, I smile through it all. I don't really think anyone who walks in, really sees me as a human being. They don't see that I fight social anxiety for a living, or that I go through things too. They don't care. They don't want to care. When they ask how I am, they don't want an honest answer. I wonder if they would smile, or compliment me instead of insulting me, if I weren't standing behind a counter, taking orders and giving change.
0
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Thoughts of a Server
the server seems not of a serving attitude for almost twenty hours it's been in an off latitude why does the server keep mucking us around its ongoing behavior is so seriously profound we're at our wits end putting up with it constantly being down we've had enough of it servers must serve a purpose well instead of giving us service hell we await the server's change for the better of late its been acting like a tantrum setter
0
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
Tantrum Setter
The kid with the beard and the ***** apron, he's just trying to make it. His shoes have small tears on the sides, from the way water saturates and weakens the material. He’s got this way of gliding from table to table, the same way a dancer owns a stage. He slides plates of salt-ridden tacos currently in vogue to a roomful of overfed, undersexed office drones A woman in a skirt and flip-flops rolls her eyes at a salad. A ********* in a blazer flicks a ****** under the table. Still, there's a twinkle in the kid’s eyes, like he's on the make. If the right circumstances unfold he’d snag a loose twenty from a wallet or a purse. This is the server's life, always under the thumb, hated and stressed, but always laughing at the end of each shift.
0
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
On the Make
8/11/2016 i want something electric, so vivid and blinding that it leaves an imprint in my vision like walking into a dark room after being in the sun i want passion so rare it leaves me foraging for whatever's left of me by the time you're gone i want to speed down the coastline [evolved yet unchanged] i don't know how to unglue myself from what you are maybe i'll keep giving into the callousness in my heart that's been growing like a cancer since the first betrayal you've used those lines before they're carved in me with lingering pains that things are an illusion and i'm here to boost your ego i've played this game long enough to know who the bad guys are but what if i'm the bad guy for escaping something stable and unwavering for a toxic replacement [albeit you're pretty easy on the eyes] teeter-tottering between saying something and actually doing it my soul on a string like a tether ball where the players are you versus everyone else and you say one thing one tiny, insincere affirmation my mind goes around the pole in circles until it's completely wrapped around the edges the way you have me singled around your rough fingers creating knots out of my insides yet all of your red flags fly violently so i swing the other direction loosening at the peak before you come back around and hold me like a child again a vicious cycle dangling a dangerous scenario in front of me like an animal eyeing food until it's clawing at your leg to rip it from your hands with their bare teeth even in my fair share of evenings i was better off not having, you're miles ahead pretending to be big kids an adult's world and my mind goes miles a minute at the thoughts you're not helping slow it down you are no more an animal than i
0
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
vivacity
8/11/2016 i want something electric, so vivid and blinding that it leaves an imprint in my vision like walking into a dark room after being in the sun i want passion so rare it leaves me foraging for whatever's left of me by the time you're gone i want to speed down the coastline [evolved yet unchanged] i don't know how to unglue myself from what you are maybe i'll keep giving into the callousness in my heart that's been growing like a cancer since the first betrayal you've used those lines before they're carved in me with lingering pains that things are an illusion and i'm here to boost your ego i've played this game long enough to know who the bad guys are but what if i'm the bad guy for escaping something stable and unwavering for a toxic replacement [albeit you're pretty easy on the eyes] teeter-tottering between saying something and actually doing it my soul on a string like a tether ball where the players are you versus everyone else and you say one thing one tiny, insincere affirmation my mind goes around the pole in circles until it's completely wrapped around the edges the way you have me singled around your rough fingers creating knots out of my insides yet all of your red flags fly violently so i swing the other direction loosening at the peak before you come back around and hold me like a child again a vicious cycle dangling a dangerous scenario in front of me like an animal eyeing food until it's clawing at your leg to rip it from your hands with their bare teeth even in my fair share of evenings i was better off not having, you're miles ahead pretending to be big kids an adult's world and my mind goes miles a minute at the thoughts you're not helping slow it down you are no more an animal than i
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28
8/12/2016 a single space and two bodies you are drawn to the same air as i but only (and only) sometimes i wait for the message that says "hello beautiful" sift through the crowds to reach you for "goodbye" and those days always come and go when they're here, they're here when i have nothing to show for myself i can't stand to be next to a mirror picking apart all the things you say you love about me up and awake wondering when you'll set your sights on a new shiny distraction i don't believe in putting a padlock on handcuffs and swallowing the key nothing gold can stay yet my mouth waters at the thought of pulling you in but this place is a social experiment where you and i can be whoever you want i am a social chameleon adjusting to whichever patterns and personalities fit my surroundings believer and doubter but the light and darkness aren't ambiguous just the shadows between and that's where we'll be if you let me
0
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
10 years older than me
I've seen where those images Take root Trying to till them New flowers need to grow
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Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
The Zephyr of Fall
an angry argument thrown at an opponent as arrows shoot across the battlefield over an expensive bottle of Cabernet. walls and borders mapped out in thick pencil lines, they hastily marked their territory before it all drowned in earthy blood-red. Fresh pepper, sir?
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Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
the aftermath
W o r k      S l e e p   W o r k      S l e e p ATE TOO MUCH                       DRANK TOO MUCH Never smoke enough.                Never wake me up. Tip me with MONEY not love. **And please, someone tell that phone to s h u t   t h e   f u c k   u p .** serve em, & serve em. Carrying plate after plate. Waiting tables is my life - anxious to meet the right person see my awesome light. put my pretty smile on tv, my strong message on the radio, With each laugh I create I start servin smiles instead of plates. each word I say, I'll act as if I'm on S T A G E . a new day is the day I am swept away!
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Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
I wait tables.
At the beginning, when lighting this fire, I thought I was just playing with matches until I realized that when my plan hatches I've got it under control. Fire fighters can control fire, but they can't control desire and now I have lived in my human pyre, the feeling of hell on razor wheels down in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that keeps you up and makes you write til your numbers up, and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted, this task is my final gauntlet, so I go crazy not to squander it. It only happens once in a life time, and it ends whenever the clock chimes, so I fight to keep that minute hand from going one measure further, but I can't fight a time marked brand, so in the end I will be the server of all who fight until the end of the struggle, to help those after me so I'll cry for others to hear my plea to treat others right until the world can see what they've done so well.
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Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Something different
I'm amused with the way you act as if everything should be handed to you. As if you are greater than everyone else; as if you've somehow earned a silver platter severed to you. -JRM
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Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Amused