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A Yellow silk scarf
He bought a yellow silk scarf at a second-hand shop
In Cheshire, the type actors were, when meeting for
A drinks party; the mirror told me he wore the scarf
With seedy elegance, which normally comes to those
Who has no self-awareness, better still, ignores what
Other people think.
In Ashdod, someone broke into his cabin, the thief
Stole his Ronson lighter, he could overlook that
But his yellow silk scarf went unforgiven forever
I’m a flower with drooping ears
Uranium is the best snack for me

  I water myself ever night to make sure I stay ripe
  I heard the thunder scream “not again.”
  A bird watched me implode politely.
  Bees avoid me like taxes.
Sometimes I sit in the sink
Talking to dishes I refuse to wash.
I once tried to talk to a lightbulb,
It turned on, then went blind.

BAM!
  BAM!
    BAM!
      BAM!
 ­       BAM!

Caught.
Chainsawed the product.
No one asked what the product was.
They just clapped.

  BRAVO!

I wore a barcode of my favourite cereal as a scarf,
Told the cashier:
  “Scan me, I bruise easily.”
He called security.

My reflection told me:
  “You blink too much for a cyllinder.”
And I agreed.
Then blinked four times, fast.
  (That was the code for “leave me broken into thirds and believable halves.”)

I’m a memory someone scribbled over.
I’m the museum you build around your hostel.
I’m a vending machine that sells only change
And money is required for usage.

The floor tried to arrest me.
The ceiling held a grudge against me.
The windows applied for workers’ comp.
  And
  I told the walls I loved them.

They said:
  “You only say that when you’re hurting.”
My response:
  “Calamari doesn’t scream, and neither do I.”
Identity crisis.
 Jun 19 rick
eliana
someday.
 Jun 19 rick
eliana
Someday you will cry for me
Like I cried for you.
Someday you'll miss me
Like I missed you.
Someday you'll need me
Like I needed you.
Someday you'll love me,
But I won't love you.
 Jun 19 rick
Neil Mcpake
It looked like muddy grounds where small dusty roses growed wild on the gable end of a wooden barn. As a spinster spinned her wheel of wool the size of a yarn. Where intermediate surfaces laid doorment as she hid away from hideous minds. While she lowered her guard in the back of a interview room in Scotland yard. The smell of tea and wee displaced the air they breathed holding all colour, creed and race without shame and with disgrace. There the prisoner waits knowing no policeman's your mate. Elbows in windows as belts and pistons drives there jam jars. Searching for another criminal to put safely behind bars as a prison guard looks up at the stars. Knowing this is ornate world as they lie on a gauntness sofa with blistering leather that craved a different stage trying to trick the judge. That they all have a different mental age while trying not to hold a grudge as they calm there own rage. This daunting life where they wear stripes fighting against right and wrong living under a deceitful con. While blades melts into brush displacing there medieval amour with surnames and number on signs knowing extra days squashing there fines. To get to the truth you will hear so many lies.
This is a poem about right and wrong and where's there's no trust between a criminal and the police. Thinking there's always light at the end of there tunnel believing they will find the end of there rainbow. With a *** of gold looking for there big score and the life they have and what they all have to lose and lengths they will take to keep it.
They told me to whisper,
But cut my tongue when I lowered my voice.

They said:
  “Say what you want,”
  And soldered my mouth up instantly.

I stared at someone too loudly.
My lack of response was interrogated,
My chains like barbed wire,
Becoming tighter anytime I speak.
I prefer to stay quiet to not say something stupid.
 Jun 19 rick
eliana
Simple Sam was a simple man.
He lived each day by a simple plan.
Enjoy your life and live while you can.
Make each day count and take a stand.

Stand on the left or stand on the right,
Whichever one you think is right.
Live each day as if your last.
Life's too short and gone too fast.
but life isn't always that simple. or is it?
 Jun 19 rick
Yuzuko
Change
 Jun 19 rick
Yuzuko
Change.
a storm,
That comes fast
Raging inside.
What you make it
the difference between

Life and death
The power of change
is like cookies
Sweet and nice
Or burnt and bad

Change is what you make it.
It is a flower
Loving, caring, and sweet.
Is the life of change

Change can be tough
and stubborn like people and
Mean, bad, and annoying
The death of change can be

The roller coaster
Change brings
The up and down
Side to side
The crazy ride
The difference it makes
Inside you and me
This was the poem I wrote to present in front of all the Advanced 7th grade classmates

It was written in 7th grade btw
 Jun 19 rick
Travis Green
I was so, so, soooooooooo gay
Boy-obsessed beyond all measure
Boy-wasted, boy-wrecked, boy-smitten to the heavens
I was lost in the immense labyrinth
Of his unprecedented swagger

Everything about him was macho poetry
That had me so high off his hot boy energy
Craving to live inside his skin
His ****, supreme scent
His mind, body, and soul

I wanted to crawl into his core
Marvel at his mouthwatering allure
Become immersed in his ***** spheres
Cherishing his earthbound playground
Of astoundingly enchanting handsomeness

Broad, muscled chest
Built like a **** realm to caress
To lay there, to kiss every area
To be bound to his profound beauty
Alpha-cut abs that grabbed my attention
Made to be gripped, cherished, and licked forever

Magically bouncy, hypnotically tight and juicy ***
A gangbuster masterpiece to treasure
A big, long chopper that rocked my world
He had me lit up inside and out
Hungering for him, strung out on all of him
 Jun 19 rick
Kairos
Good liar
 Jun 19 rick
Kairos
I forgive your lies,
Do me a favour? Just once.
Pretend to love me
Haiku love liar
Sweet release
granted to me.

Ah, the glory.
The bittersweet,
the buttery, the savory.
The shallow pools
of syrupy glee.

Ahhh.
There he is.
The ******* me.

Over and over
again and again
for all of eternity.

Take a trudge through
the mud pit
where my mind used to be.

Track little pieces
of the old me.

Knee deep in thought
about absolutely
nothing.

A swamp of uncertainty.
When you finally recognize yourself after years of seeing a stranger in the mirror.
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