#stalls - Hello Poetry

Because ankles are bound to get hot In underwear collars why not Raise up the stall door, To ventilate more? You’ll feel like you’re on board a yacht.

0

Dec 17, 2024

Dec 17, 2024 at 4:15 PM UTC

david-plantinga

Ventilation

Because ankles are bound to get hot In underwear collars why not Raise up the stall door, To ventilate more? You’ll feel like you’re on board a yacht.

5

This is just the beginning Soaring high Oh so high Strung out for days Till the comedown cries Lay back a ton of my body parts I weigh a ton Spark a fro Give myself the head change This color stained The river under my skin Strong willed would be nice Overcome now Everyday cravings Got me going crazy Got me willing Thinking to myself maybe Just maybe I'll make it Passing thoughts of suicide Closing doors Open my mind

0

Dec 14, 2018

Dec 14, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC

chris-26

VOP

This is just the beginning Soaring high Oh so high Strung out for days Till the comedown cries Lay back a ton of my body parts I weigh a ton Spark a fro Give myself the head change This color stained The river under my skin Strong willed would be nice Overcome now Everyday cravings Got me going crazy Got me willing Thinking to myself maybe Just maybe I'll make it Passing thoughts of suicide Closing doors Open my mind

23

The poison is in all of us: Half-smoked cigarettes lay on the side of grainy gravel paths, crinkly Dollarama bags and glass beer bottles. We relax on trees leaning backs against the braille texture of bark that tries to speak to us in a language we don’t understand. We lean back and raise our faces towards the sunlight dancing between the leaves of the canopy, listening to the tires whizzing against concrete, but think it similar to the smacking of waves against stones; lean back and savour the syrupy smell of maple trees against our tongues, thinking to ourselves how grateful we are for nature as we sit in a paradise of tall trees their branches intertwined in a space smaller than bathroom stalls; lean back and breathe in exhaust and cigarette smoke masked behind a layer of sweet antiperspirants and coconut-scented shampoos as the wind whips hair against your face. We take peaceful naps against the undeciphered braille, but the poison is in all of us and one day this paradise will become nothing. A bed of dirt blanketed by prickly store-bought strips of grass.

0

Jun 30, 2016

Jun 30, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC

LifelessKnights

Weeds

The poison is in all of us: Half-smoked cigarettes lay on the side of grainy gravel paths, crinkly Dollarama bags and glass beer bottles. We relax on trees leaning backs against the braille texture of bark that tries to speak to us in a language we don’t understand. We lean back and raise our faces towards the sunlight dancing between the leaves of the canopy, listening to the tires whizzing against concrete, but think it similar to the smacking of waves against stones; lean back and savour the syrupy smell of maple trees against our tongues, thinking to ourselves how grateful we are for nature as we sit in a paradise of tall trees their branches intertwined in a space smaller than bathroom stalls; lean back and breathe in exhaust and cigarette smoke masked behind a layer of sweet antiperspirants and coconut-scented shampoos as the wind whips hair against your face. We take peaceful naps against the undeciphered braille, but the poison is in all of us and one day this paradise will become nothing. A bed of dirt blanketed by prickly store-bought strips of grass.

32