#unkempt
That which previously passed as night clothing
Has become daytime wear,
Oh fear and loathing
Truth or dare,
Showing up at holiday gatherings
Dressed as the family slobs,
It is nearly unbelievable
In light of their pharmacist jobs.
When it's the same ensemble
For day and night,
One thing I notice
It is never too tight,
It hides any bulges
So baggy and loose,
I guess it’s why I can’t tell
If they are a gazelle or a moose.
Yet, as members of our household
I feel a bit embarrassed,
I maintain a decent decorum
Although my wife is the fairest,
But even she cringes
When her son shows up in bedclothes,
At a public celebration
Oh, how she turns up her nose.
It’s not an issue regarding
Any shortage of money,
Others wear the same wardrobe
It went viral, but it’s not funny,
Their household income
Is three-hundred-k plus,
24-hour pajamas?
(At least it’s not us!)
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 1:35 PM UTC
Feeling unkempt from shortness of breath
Brain functions less as cloud covers ahead
Given a rest when energy spent
Lungs are suppressed
No control in the chest
Closeness too dense
Muffled words left to float in the air
Stifled and drowned
Faint from the crown
Blood pressure down
Warmth idling for me not to care
Few beads of sweat, heat heavy and wet
Recovery yet but soon on the mend
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 6:05 AM UTC
Ever,if we meet under the canopy of coincident
Your collars shall be on the verge
To be plucked out by me
With the 'good-girl nails' plunged into your flesh
I promise,
I'll get the red in you,out,oozed
Soon will turn you Sapphire blue
Neither your counters
Nor roughness would chase that of mine
Now then you shall be Kisna's pigment
I shall embellish a Peacock's feather on your unkempt hair design
Your hair that you've nurtured in masculine style
Torn apart and your face wet in wild wine splashed back to conscious mind
A smile for witnessing you mad at me
But anyway vengeance was mine.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 7:54 AM UTC
Collections litter boxes
unkempt
in the corners of my room.
filtering through snowstorms
of white laced with scribbled verse.
Memoires sewn in tapestry of
what was wondering within
the cotton of thought and the
needle of motion of my pencil.
There are momentary pauses
laced with eyes gauging words.
Then there are crumbled echoes
of what now litter a tiny bin.
I walk from the room of my conscious
verses some unkempt in the corner,
others slung into a void of rejection.
I may visit momentary , but now I write.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 10:36 AM UTC
a garden unkempt,
she took him,made an attempt.
he is more than real!
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC